


the conspiracy of seeds

by pantherophis



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantherophis/pseuds/pantherophis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmares of the demon that might someday kill him plague his fitful slumber - visions of the creature with glinting fangs and claws, that nuzzles into his chest, and sleeps next to him in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01.

**Author's Note:**

> aka "Sheffbrien Apocalypse" - nanowrimo from 2014. AU where Sheffield is trans. based more on DDS/that's catch 22 canon than on QDS canon, but deviates from both. * _chapters that need specific warnings will have them in the chapter notes*_
> 
> named after the song by 65 days of static

There’s a glimmer of hope in his heart, for him, for both of them together, before everything goes wrong.

He looks into his eyes with trust, a deep fondness, and watches them flicker with emotions perhaps he could never truly read. A part of him, though, knows some of those emotions were genuine, and it makes everything that much worse.

Blood drips.

Miles away, in the deepest part of the forest, walks a deer with one broken antler.

\---

They have brushed against each other in the halls, around campus during orientation, and sat in the same classes. Sheffield is the one to notice his existence first.

He turns his head gently to watch the young man from across the room. Perhaps to someone else, there would have been nothing particularly noticeable about him – but something about the way he leans forward in his chair, thick blonde hair falling over half of his face as he furrows his brow, jotting notes during the lecture, draws Sheffield’s gaze.

They’re both sitting in the back row; Sheffield because he’s having a bad time tolerating people’s stupidity, and Heat because he ran in two minutes late and was too embarrassed to sit near his usual front-mid seat.

Another student runs in late and sits between the two of them. Sheffield leans back in his seat to peer around him, his eyes still trained on the blonde. He tunes out the drone of the lecturer; it’s not anything he doesn’t already know, or won’t be able to catch up on easily. It’s only the first day of lecture. On the other hand, the blonde is writing fast, messily – Sheffield assumes by his bad hand posture and grip on his pen – and his eyes dart up once in a while to view the PowerPoint.

Sheffield twirls his own pen in his hand. Something about the other man intrigues him. His frame is wide, his arms thick with toned muscle. He’s tall – Sheffield can tell even though he’s sitting somewhat slouched – and he looks more like he belongs on the football team than in a university science course. Thick blonde hair shifts every time he leans too much forward, and he throws it back, only to have it fall again. Sheffield thinks its curious that he would let his hair get that long in the first place.

The prof goes on. It’s nothing of substance. Important dates, the syllabus, where the find the teacher’s assistants. He doesn’t know why he is so intent on getting every word down.

Sheffield leaves class a few minutes early, letting his gaze linger on the blonde, who doesn’t have a clue he was ever being watched.

-

“O’Brien.”

The muffled voice behind the door makes Heat swing around in his chair and rush to open it. Standing there is one of the senior members of his floor. Heat has only met him a couple of times.

“What is it?” Heat asks, not sure what to expect.

“There’s been a change in your dorm arrangement.” The older student looks down at the clipboard, flipping the paper back and forth. “I think you’re getting a different roommate.”

“What?” Heat asks again, although the news isn’t particularly upsetting. He barely got to know the roommate that was supposed to share his dorm during orientation.

“Dunno.” The older student shrugs. “Think he’s talked with the floor supervisor himself, actually. He convinced them having someone in a more similar program would be better for you guys.”

“What’s he in?” Heat asks, more curiously.

“Bachelor of science, psych?” He shrugs and points the clipboard towards Heat. “What was the other guy in?”

Heat shrugs as well. He doesn’t even remember. “…Something.”

The older student laughs and waves a hand, taking off. “Well, hope he doesn’t bother you too much. He kinda seems like a nosy guy. He should be moving his stuff later today, so hide your porn, alright, O’Brien?”

“I don’t – “ Heat begins, but the older student is already dashing down the hall. Heat looks around to see if anyone else on the floor heard their conversation. A girl standing a few doors down giggles. Heat slinks back into his room and hurriedly shuts the door.

He glances over at his now ex-roommate’s things scattered all over his side of the room. Heat can’t say he’ll be upset to see him go. He can’t even remember his name.

He mulls over the name on the clipboard: Serph Sheffield.

Heat suddenly sees the shiny gloss of a magazine cover glinting from underneath his bed sheets and groans inwardly. “Oh, fucking shit.”

-

There’s a knock at his door a few hours later – after his old roommate comes to pick up his junk and they exchange thin goodbyes, and after Heat’s magazine is tucked under the mattress.

When Heat answers, he’s looking down at a slender framed young man with short dark hair. He has a cool smile on his lips and an aura that immediately strikes deep into Heat’s core.

“Hello."

“Um, hey,” Heat says. Something about him tells Heat he’s definitely the one mentioned on the clipboard, but he asks just for niceties sake. “Uh, are you Serph Sheffield?”

“I am.” Sheffield extends a small hand, which Heat grips with clammy palms.

“Sorry,” Heat mutters afterwards, wiping them off on his pants.

“No worries. The first week’s been tough on all of us, anxiety and all.” Sheffield smiles and gestures past Heat. “May I come in?”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He turns his shoulder, allowing Sheffield inside. The smaller man walks in, head held high, and he sets his bag on the other chair. He starts unpacking right away, and by the careful way he places things on his bedside table and desk, Heat can already tell he’s less of a slob than the other guy was.

“So,” Sheffield says, turning his head over his shoulder with a smile. “Heat O’Brien, right?”

“Yeah,” Heat answers with a friendly smile in return.

“Unusual name,” Sheffield says playfully.

Heat sighs. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’ve never heard your name before, either, though.”

“I guess we’re in the same boat then,” Sheffield agrees. He sets his laptop squarely in the corner of the desk and the charger, bound up, next to it.

“You’re in psych, right?” Heat asks, as Sheffield continues to place items neatly in his space.

“Yes, that’s right. BSc.”

“Nice.” There’s a short silence; to Heat’s surprise, it’s the first awkward thing he’s said this whole time.

Sheffield seems not to notice, or mind, as he continues setting up. “What’s your program?”

“Genetics,” says Heat, composing himself a little.

He catches Sheffield’s eyes widen slightly before returning to a neutral, half-lidded state. “Impressive.”

Heat grins despite himself. He lets the hair fall in front of his other eye. “Nah. Kind of unexciting right now, honestly. Just basic sciences in first year.”

Finally finished packing, Sheffield slips onto the bed and stretches. He lays sideways, propped up by his elbow, holding his head. “You’re in my biology class, you know.”

“Huh?” Heat blinks. “Seriously?”

“Back row, furiously taking notes? Kinda big, kinda blonde?” Sheffield grins.

Heat flushes in embarrassment. “Christ, you were watching me?”

Something mischievous flickers across Sheffield’s eyes, like he’s going to say something else, but he keeps it to himself. “Yeah, sorry.” He adds with a soft laugh, “I hope that’s not weird.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Heat replies. Something about the comment makes him feel good. He never thought himself interesting enough to stand out to a stranger. “Hey, dude, we should study together sometime. I’m pretty good at bio.”

Sheffield’s dark eyes glimmer again. “That would be great, actually. Thank you.”

“No prob – lem,” he says, stumbling over his words.

Sheffield’s light laugh calms his strange budding anxiety, but somehow makes it worse at the same time.

“Hey, you want to catch dinner at the caf before it gets dark?” Sheffield gestures towards the window. The early September sun is beginning to blend into the horizon. “Moving all my stuff made me hungry.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Heat grabs his wallet and keys. As Sheffield reaches to pick up his own wallet on the desk, Heat interrupts him, “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s on me tonight. For already being a cleaner and better roommate than the other guy was.”

Sheffield chuckles again, eyes sparkling up at Heat. “Thanks, O’Brien.”

It sounds strange at first, being referred to by his last name instead of his first, but hearing it roll of Sheffield’s tongue is something he thinks he will quickly get used to.


	2. 02.

Sheffield, Heat quickly learns, is a clean and composed young man, the type of person to wake up early and complete his entire morning routine before Heat even rouses. Heat is vaguely conscious when he comes to and notices someone standing over him.

“Morning,” Sheffield says, mouth full with his toothbrush.

Heat only grunts, turning over in bed. Sheffield watches him amusement before heading back to their shared bathroom to spit and finishing brushing his hair. By the time he returns to watch Heat a second time, his eyes are slightly parted, though they feel heavy and sticky.

“Hey,” Heat grunts softly, his eyes unfocused.

“Good morning,” Sheffield repeats. “You have class in an hour.”

Heat nods without completely registering his words. He trusts Sheffield enough to assume what he’s saying is true, even if he’s only half conscious.

“I’ve got class all day so I won’t see you til the afternoon, but you said we could study tonight.” Sheffield raises a brow mischievously. “You do remember what you said, right?”

It takes Heat a good moment to respond as he forces himself to wake up a bit more. He wipes the grime of sleep from his eyes and slowly sits up on his elbows. “Yeah,” he says groggily. “Library?”

Sheffield shakes his head. “I want somewhere we can talk. I’ll save a quiet spot in the caf after dinner. Text me.” Before Heat can prepare himself, Sheffield tosses his phone over and Heat fumbles to catch it. “Add your number and a picture, if you want.” Sheffield suddenly smirks. “Actually, hang on.”

He retrieves the phone before Heat realizes what he’s doing, and snaps a photo.

“Hey!”

In the image, Heat’s hair is tousled, falling over one eye as usual, and the other eye is half-lidded with sleep and gazing up at him. Sheffield sets it and throws it back on Heat’s comforter. “There. Don’t delete it.”

Picking it up, Heat glances it over. “Looks like shit,” he grumbles. He thumbs through and adds himself to Sheffield’s contacts section. Sheffield picks it up between two fingers when he’s done.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “Come on,” he thumps Heat on the shoulder, “Wake up already. I’ll look like a bad roommate if you’re late.”

That comment finally hauls Heat out of bed. “Christ… Fine.”

Sheffield has his bag slung over his shoulder and one foot out the door. “See you later, O’Brien.”

Heat lazily raises a hand. “Later, Serph.”

When he’s gone, Heat trudges to the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face. The countertop is spotless and the sink glints in the light like it’s been cleaned recently. All of Sheffield’s toiletries are neatly arranged on his own side of the sink. It almost makes Heat embarrassed for his own side. With a hard look, he straightens up his own toothbrush in the holder, as if that accomplishes anything.

He doesn’t remember what happened last night, although he knows it wasn’t anything involving alcohol or drugs. He feels exhausted, like he was hit by a truck, but everything seems light. As the haze of sleep lifts, he realizes he’s in a good mood, and the memories seep back to the forefront of his mind. They had stayed up late, he remembers. He blinks hard. They had stayed up late, talking, Sheffield asking him about high school, about his family. He remembers telling him about all the courses he’s taking, and which prerequisites are for which future courses, and what he wants to do after graduating. He realizes with a snort, now, what a load of shit that must have been. He wonders if Sheffield believed anything he said, or if he was even listening. God knows Heat would have tuned out to someone’s long winded speech about their whole life.

He leans on the counter, eyebrow furrowing. Had Sheffield talked about himself at all? Heat didn’t remember. He realizes, with a pang of guilt, that he can’t even remember what other courses Sheffield is taking, if he told him at all.

“Christ,” Heat mutters to himself.

-

The psychology prof drawls on for what seems like an eternity. Sheffield already hates him. He’s always talking about himself and his own bullshit research. He knows the exams are going to be based on all his bullshit research, too, because Sheffield’s bought the textbook already and it reads almost word for word what he’s spewing now.

Eyes glazing over, he thumbs over his lock screen and flits to Heat’s contact info. With a voiceless huff of amusement, he sets the tousled hair image as his phone lock screen.

-

When his classes are over and he’s run back to his dorm to smear some more deodorant on (he sweats like a fucking pig in the late summer heat and he’s horrified that someone’s going to notice how bad he reeks) and slams the door, bolting to the cafeteria. The phone is clutched in his fist, the text message on the screen.

Where are you? Saved you a seat and some food. Know you love the nasty caf slop. A cat emoji with a wide grin. Sent almost 20 minutes ago.

Heat rushes down the hall, skipping steps down the stairs. He scans the area. At the far end of the cafeteria he glimpses a slender body with silky black hair, pen in hand.

“Shit,” Heat gasps.

He almost falls trying to slide into the seat of the booth opposite Sheffield. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, breathless. “I was – talking to the prof after lecture and got carried away and didn’t notice the time.”

Sheffield starts chuckling, and Heat’s frazzled anxiety calms down a little. “Why do you sound so nervous? It’s not a date, we’re just studying.”

Heat stares at Sheffield, now looking back at his textbook with a calm expression, then blinks. He laughs a little too, still breathless. “Yeah.”

“Here.” A small plate of fries is pushed towards him. “These are yours.”

“Oh, thanks.” He throws a couple in his mouth and then ravenously eats the rest. “How’d you know I like fries?”

Sheffield looks at him, almost in confusion. He takes a moment to answer. “It was obvious. You’re just that kind of person.”

Heat tries to swallow before asking. “Huh?”

With a twirl of his pen, Sheffield presses the blunt tip to his textbook page. “You know this stuff, right?”

Sheffield watch the expression on Heat’s face shift as he leans forward to look at where the pen is pressed. He watches Heat’s suddenly intense yellow eyes skim the page, notices the slight furrow of his brow. “Yeah,” Heat says, voice lower than before. “Do you want me to explain it? I’ll probably do a shitty job, but I can try.”

Sheffield basks in the serious but gentle expression on Heat’s face before he nods and says, “That would be great.”

-

On the way back to their dorm, Heat asks, “Hey, we stayed up for a while last night, right?”

“We did,” Sheffield confirms.

“Okay, good, I was starting to think I was making shit up. What did we talk about? I only remember bits and pieces, and it was mostly me talking about myself,” Heat adds.

Sheffield nods, textbooks pressed to his chest, as he waits for Heat to unlock the door with the key card. “That's because we did talk about you. I was asking you about yourself.”

Heat knits his brow. “The whole time?”

Sheffield steps into room. “Yes.” Noting Heat’s confusion, he adds, “You weren’t just blabbering on, don’t worry. I was asking all the questions you were responding to.”

He feels somewhat relieved. The thought of spilling his entire life story to someone he only met recently, for absolutely no reason, was beyond embarrassing.

“Psychology, huh?” Heat says. “I can’t believe you let me yak my head off the whole night. You really must be interested in people.”

Sheffield flashes him a wry smile. “You could say that.”

They sit on opposite sides of the room, on their respective beds. It’s dark outside and most of the hall has quieted down.

Heat lets out a big sigh and slumps back on the mattress. “Been a hell of a month, huh. Can you believe it’s already been that long?”

There’s a silence from the other side of the room, but Heat knows Sheffield is listening, even with his eyes closed. He can imagine the acknowledging tilt of his head in reply.

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” Heat asks.

“Of course. Nothing you feel is embarrassing, Heat.” The way the words roll off Sheffield’s lips, cool and soothing, calm him down; especially with of the rare use of his first name. “You can tell me anything.”

Something in Heat’s chest feels warm. Pleasant. He begins slowly, “I didn’t think I’d make any friends right away. Real friends, you know? Not like guys you say hi to in the hall out of obligation, or the ones that seem to think you’re automatically friends once they’ve slapped you on the back in the hall.”

He can hear the understanding smile on Sheffield’s lips as he chuckles quietly from the other side of the room.

“None of those people get me,” Heat continues. He’s opened his eyes now and is staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. “They all see like… a jock? I don’t fucking know. A caveman smashing two rocks together.”

Sheffield laughs again, but asks seriously, “Why do you think they think that?”

Shaking his head, Heat says, “Because I’m tall? I have broad shoulders and look like I could tackle people to the ground?”

“Couldn't you?”

“I guess,” Heat grunts.

“But you wouldn’t.”

Heat pauses. “Not unless it was for a good reason.”

He hears Sheffield shift. The smaller man is upright now, leaning forward on his elbows, fingers knitted together in front of his mouth in deep thought. “Like what?”

“I don't know,” Heat says, but continues, “Like if someone was being attacked. Someone who couldn’t protect themselves.”

After a moment, Sheffield comments, “You instantly mentioned wanting to help someone else instead of a hypothetical situation in which you needed to fend off someone attacking you. That’s interesting.”

Heat doesn’t think much of it. He shrugs. “I guess. I don’t know why someone would come after me in the first place. Everyone seems to think I look damn scary.”

He hears Sheffield stand up with a creak of his mattress and he sits down on Heat’s bed next to him, looking down at his face, almost scrutinizing. “Hmm.” Sheffield brings a curled finger to his lip thoughtfully. “Only from a moderate distance.”

Heat blinks, meeting his gaze. “Huh? What the hell does that mean?”

“Well,” Sheffield begins, giving his body a once over. “From a distance, especially from the back, people may not be able to discern much about you from your appearance aside from your tall stature and blonde hair. I can see why people might even mistake you for a woman.”

“Hey,” Heat grunts, although not sounding particularly offended.

“It’s not an insult. Your hair is beautiful.” As if to prove his point, Sheffield picks a thick tuft of Heat’s sprawled out hair between his fingers, combing them through. It’s only for a second or two, but Heat feels warmth flush into his cheeks, and feels a strange emptiness when Sheffield pulls away.

  
“Now, from up close, it’s a different angle they see,” Sheffield continues. “Your face is masculine with a lot of flattering characteristics. The blonde hair, for one, and your eyelashes. Oh, they are especially nice up close,” Sheffield remarks and leans in a bit closer. “Did you know they have a gradient?”

“What?” Heat asks. He tries not to sound too flustered but fails.

“At the base of your eyelid, they’re blonde, like your hair, but as they reach the tips they turn a rich brown. They probably glow amber in the sunlight.”

Heat flutters his eyelashes by accident, blinking one too many times as he takes in everything Sheffield is telling him.

“They’re a focal part of your face, in my opinion. Also, you have a soft expression. Let me explain,” he adds, as Heat’s brow furrows in confusion and surprise. “You scowl at a distance. Your eyebrows fall naturally low. While people might seem off put by this at first, your expression changes when other people are close by. Your brows lift. Your eyes widen a little. You’re obviously alert and engaged with whoever you’re talking to. For someone so concerned about other people’s perception of you, I don’t think you have a fully accurate grasp of it yourself. You’re soft, O’Brien, it’s painfully clear. That’s why people like you.

“When people approach you in the halls – the ones who don’t know you very well – it’s because they want to know you. Once they’ve had a taste of your personality, the real one past your self-proclaimed ‘caveman’ aesthetic, they want more. They’re trying to pry gently past your guard. These people sense how golden you are, and it makes them curious. In their own minds, they’re not being overbearing, or annoying when they interact with you. They’re seeing how much they can get away with, in terms of friendliness. They’re gauging your reaction.

“Humour me for a second; have girls on our floor hugged you uninvited before?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly.

“Let me guess; the embraces were just a moment or two too long, weren’t they?”

Heat blinks. “Yeah.”

“That’s what I mean!” Sheffield gestures with his palm up. “They’re seeing what they can get away with, what you will and won’t tolerate. Edging closer to a relationship with you. Not necessarily a romantic one, just for clarification.”

“I never thought about it like that,” Heat mutters, pushing his hair back. “Do you really think people think like that? About me, I mean?”

Sheffield nods, assuring. “I know it for a fact.”

“Shit,” Heat mutters after a long sigh. “That’s a lot to think about.”

“Back to my original point – about the moderate distance – that’s what I meant. Far away and you’re too hard to read. Too close and you’re about as soft as a golden retriever. It’s when you’re just far away enough to notice your expression, the default mild scowl, but close enough to see at all, that I can understand why you think people would find you intimidating.”

Sheffield clears his throat gently. “Excuse me for being long-winded.”

With a deep breath and closed eyes, Heat interlocks his fingers over his stomach. “Thanks, Serph,” he says.

Sheffield tilts his head. “What for?”

“Just… everything.” He rolls over so he’s on his side, and peers at him through the thick wave of blonde hair now covering his eye. “I’m shit at words. Not like you,” he adds with a smile. “But, like. I appreciate what you said. And for being a good guy. And listening to me.”

Heat laughs suddenly. “Shit, this sounds so gay.”

He doesn’t know why it slips out. Suddenly he’s hyperaware, ready to notice every miniscule reaction Sheffield has, whether it's the twitch of his hand, or a flicker of something on his face. Heat doesn’t know why he’s so stressed out. He has never been worried about another guy’s reaction to hearing that phrase before.

But Sheffield’s reaction doesn’t come. The same cool aura radiates off of him. There’s no twitch in his hand, or his face, and his expression doesn’t change. Instead, he just shakes his head a little, with that tiny smile still on his lips.

“Don’t dismiss your feelings like that. They’re valid. Unless you are actually gay and you’re just using it as a filler-type word.”

“Oh, uh,” Heat says. “I’m not. I guess I shouldn’t… be using it like that.”

Sheffield “For the record, your identity is of little concern to me. And I mean that in the sense that I do care and respect it, but it’s none of my business. I would hope that – not to pressure you at all – if you did have something regarding your identity to tell me, you would feel free to. I would assume the same is true for me as well.”

“Oh, of course,” Heat replies hastily, nodding. “Definitely. I’m not the kind of guy who cares about that stuff. I … hope I didn’t come off like an ass.”

“Don’t worry,” Sheffield says. “I got what you meant.”

A quiet moment passes where Heat closes his eyes for a bit, and Sheffield browses through his phone, still at his side on the bed.

Heat suddenly asks, “If there was something you wanted to tell me, you would, right?”

“If I thought it was relevant, yes, I would,” Sheffield replies without missing a beat.

“Okay. Just making sure.”

Sheffield finally pushes off the bed and stretches with a tiny grunt of effort. He heads to the bathroom for his nightly routine.

“Hey, you’re not waking up early tomorrow to study, right?” Heat calls. “It’s Saturday.”

“No,” Sheffield says, one hand on the bathroom door. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Yeah. Did you wanna have breakfast with me?”

Sheffield raises an eyebrow but looks amused. “The cafeteria breakfast? O’Brien I thought you at least had a little taste.”

“Not the caf,” Heat says, shaking his head. “Somewhere off campus, away from the fucking school atmosphere. We can walk to this place I’ve seen nearby.”

A sly grin worms its way onto Sheffield’s face. He’s dying to prod him with a question, but he holds it firm; he doesn’t want it to be too much for O’Brien’s heart.

“Sure,” Sheffield replies. “If you can wake up on time, I’ll meet you outside the dorm.”

Heat grins. “Okay."

As Sheffield disappears behind the closed door and Heat hears the faucet start to run, he lets go of a breath he didn't realize he was been holding.


	3. 03.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [warning for emetophobia, blood, broken bones]

_eat him_

He runs. He gets nowhere. Something makes him trip.

_eat him eat him eat him_

A sickening crack sounds as a clawed fist smashes the side of his ribcage. He immediately vomits blood, keeling over. The monster – it’s not an animal, it doesn’t register as anything he knows and that scares the shit out of him – steps closer on thick feet, grabs him by the midsection, hauls him up.

_eat him eat him eat him eat HIM_

It opens its horrible jaws, lined with huge white fangs. Drapes him across its mouth like a ragdoll. His legs snap clean off, bones splintering in its teeth. Everything is numb. He watches his intestines spill on the floor.

_EAT HIM EAT HIM EAT HIM_

He’s crying but he knows he’s resigned he’s going to die there’s nothing he can do about it -

_EAT HIM EAT HIM EAT HIM EAT HIM_

His heart beats mucousy and thick, stringy, as half of it pulls away, tangled in rows of teeth –

_EAT HIM_


	4. 04.

He’s vaguely aware of the warmth of someone’s hand on his shoulder, rousing him. In his half awake stupor he tries to groan, but the sound comes out choked, more like a whimper. The hand grips him firmly.

“Heat,” a voice calls.

Trying to open his eyes proves harder than expected. Another hand touches him, brushing hair out of his face.

“Heat, wake up. It's okay.”

The voice finally registers as Sheffield and Heat sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering open. The small man is hovering over him, one hand on his shoulder and the other by his face. His brow is knitted together in concern. Heat is suddenly aware of how damp his whole body feels. His skin is slick with sweat.

“Serph?” he croaks.

“It’s okay,” Sheffield reaffirms. He puts his free hand on Heat’s hair comfortingly. “I’m here. You were having a bad dream.”

“I…” Heat blinks a few times and tries to get his bearings. The nightmare suddenly comes back to him, but it’s hazy, like an old photograph covered in dust. Even though nothing is threatening him, he still feels unsettled. “Yeah. How did you know?”

Sheffield smiles patiently. “You were making these sad little grunting noises while tossing and turning.”

The warmth of embarrassment sweeps over him. “Shit.”

Sheffield pets his hair, the gesture almost motherly. Something about it embarrasses Heat, but it's strangely pleasant, so he doesn’t make a fuss. Heat tries to sit up. His hair sweeps down over his face, along with a wave of dizziness. He holds his forehead in his hand.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Sheffield asks.

For some reason, Heat doesn’t want this particular experience to be psychoanalyzed. He shakes his head. “I was just… being chased.”

He immediately feels guilty for not telling the entire truth. Sheffield only nods in understanding and gives him a gentle pat on the back before getting up off the bed. He notices Sheffield doesn’t seem as put together as he usually is in the mornings. His hair is mussed and a sweater drapes loosely over his small shoulders. Heat feels even guiltier as he realizes he probably woke Sheffield up.

“Did you still want to go out? It might help clear your head,” Sheffield says.

It takes Heat a moment but he nods. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll be fine.” He gives him a small apologetic smile. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Sheffield grins. “You’re an idiot, O’Brien. Go get dressed.” 

The post-awakening daze of the nightmare wears off as Heat gets ready. He rushes his morning routine, not wanting to make his roommate wait longer than he already has. When Heat runs out, hair un-brushed and t-shirt riding up his waist and exposing his boxers, he almost crashes into Sheffield outside the door.

“Whoa! Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sheffield replies with a soft wave of his hand. He gives Heat a sly glance. “Look at you.” He gazes up to Heat’s unbrushed hair and then down to the boxers sticking out of his pants. “You’re a mess.”

Reaching up with a dainty hand, Sheffield smooths over Heat’s cowlicks, patting them down on all sides into his usual style. He combs his fingers through the especially tangled parts. “There. You looked like you just woke up in a barn. And this, too.” Before Heat can protest, Sheffield stuffs the fabric of his boxers carefully back into his jeans.

With a horrible gnawing anxiety, Heat realizes that he _likes_ it.

Sheffield casually withdraws his hands. “There we go. Now you're presentable.”

“Uh," Heat says. His throat suddenly feels dry. "Thanks.”

Sheffield flashes him a smile and locks the door with his key card. “Shall we be on our way?”

-

The restaurant is packed and Heat regrets the decision to come as soon as he steps inside.

He still feels dazed by his nightmare – he doesn’t even have an appetite after that – and the loud buzz of everybody talking at once makes him space out. The only thing he’s aware of is the warm scent of breakfast food and the horrible droning noise. He forgets Sheffield is beside him until he lightly touches his arm just a moment before he hears someone else ask, “Excuse me?”

The place where Sheffield’s fingertips brushed his skin crackles with static electricity. A server is in front of him now, forcing a smile.

“Huh? Oh. Sorry, yeah.”

“For two, please,” Sheffield interjects before Heat can even finish speaking. He gives Heat a concerned glance from the corner of his eye. The hostess doesn't seem to notice.

“Alright, if you guys just wanna follow me.”

They are lead to their table. All Heat can concentrate on is Sheffield’s touch on the back of his hand to guide him. The anxiety from earlier flares, but neither of them say anything about it when they sit down.

_Isn’t it weird?_ A voice in the back of Heat’s mind nags. _That you let man touch your hand like that?_

“O’Brien.”

Sheffield’s cool voice starts him from his daze. He blinks in acknowledgment.

“I’ll order for you, but interrupt me if you hear anything objectionable,” Sheffield continues.

Heat nods, leaning back in the booth seat and closing his eyes for a moment. Sheffield says quietly, “Let me know at any time if you’d like to leave.”

Heat thinks its funny, almost, that Sheffield doesn’t even have to mention that he knows something’s wrong. But Heat also appreciates the fact that Sheffield knows everything he’s thinking without Heat having to say a word.

He almost grimaces when he realizes there’s a few things he hopes Sheffield _doesn't_ know.

From the corner of his eye, Heat watches a new waitress come up to their table, looking more cheerful than the one they met at the door. The anxious knot in his stomach loosens. It’s easier for Heat to pretend to be in a good mood when strangers are doing it too.

She brings up a notepad and pen, looking expectantly at him. Heat stares back at her. Across the table, Sheffield narrows his dark eyes.

“Good morning, guys!” Although she's clearly speaking to Heat, she turns to greet Sheffield as well. His expression is back to a neutral polite smile. The waitress seems like she’s about to say something in addendum to her previous words, but instead turns back to facing Heat. “My name is J. What can I get you folks today?”

“Uh – “

“He’s going to have this,” Sheffield interrupts, pointing to something on the menu that Heat didn’t even have the time or energy to look over.

“Oh… are you sure?” she asks. “It’s so small for such a big guy.”

“Yes,” Sheffield says, his lips tight. “He’ll get a tea as well. Actually, make it two.”

She doesn’t ask Sheffield if he wants to eat anything, apparently still distracted by Heat’s mystifying order. “Alright, well, I’ll be back with these in a sec.”

When she’s gone, Heat raises an eyebrow at Sheffield, and mutters, “What the hell did you get me that she’s so confused?”

A wry grin stretches across Sheffield’s mouth. “A kids meal.”

Despite his strange mood, Heat laughs. “Seriously?”

The tension on Sheffield’s faces eases and he nods, “Yeah, seriously.”

“You’re really something, Serph,” Heat says. “Hey, why didn’t you order anything? Wait, no, let me guess; you wouldn’t be caught dead eating here.”

Sheffield snorts a laugh. “No. I’m obviously stealing some of your food.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, come on. You won’t share with me?” Sheffield asks, tilting his head.

Heat throws his hair back off his other eye but it settles back into its natural place moments later. “Of course I will,” he mutters. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

Sheffield leans forward, his elbows on the table, and knits his fingers together as if examining him. “Is your appetite back?” he asks.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, mostly,” Heat admits. He adds quietly, “Thanks.”

Sheffield shrugs but he’s smiling a little. “I didn’t do anything.”

A moment later the waitress scampers over with a tray and an almost comically small plate with three tiny pancakes on it. With her other hand she sets the pot of tea and mugs on the table. “Here we are.”

“Thanks,” Heat says. He smiles at her, more easily now, and the waitress lights up.

“No problem, hon," she says, touching his shoulder lightly before sliding it off, "Let me know if you two need anything.” She looks back at Sheffield, whose expression is polite but guarded, and leaves their table.

Heat blinks at Sheffield. “Is that what you were talking about last night?”

“Her behaviour towards you?” Sheffield says. “Yes, it’s quite likely it is.”

“That's so weird,” Heat says, shaking his head as he reaches absentmindedly for his fork. “I still can’t believe you just figured something like that out. And then it like, came true the next day.” He points the fork at him. “Are all psych students like that, or are you just some kind of weird prophet?”

Sheffield lets out a laugh so pure and whimsical that Heat, selfishly, almost doesn’t want anyone else to hear it.

“Oh my god,” Sheffield says, wiping a tear from his eye. “You are so endearing, O’Brien.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Heat stabs into his food with his fork.

“Endearing and oafish.”

"Oh, fuck off." Heat stuffs the minuscule pancake into his mouth. “I didn’t think I would be hungry, but this is pretty good. Here, take the other one. We can split the third.”

Once they’re done eating, Heat goes up front to pay the bill. Sheffield stays behind at the table with their belongings. Heat can see the waitress back at their table to gather the last of the dishes. As she leans over to grab something from the far end, she mutters something to Sheffield that makes the colour drain from his face. He suddenly looks sick with rage. The waitress skitters away, oblivious. Heat’s brow creases in concern. He’s never seen Sheffield so angry.

A moment later Sheffield stalks up to him, abandoning the table.

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone flat.

Heat takes the receipt from the register and pockets it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

With obvious disbelief, Heat follows Sheffield as he storms out the door.


	5. 05.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _warning for self harm, dysphoria_ ]

The walk home is stiff and silent. Heat knows something is bothering Sheffield, but never finds a good moment to ask why. When they reach the dorm, Sheffield throws the door open and locks himself in the bathroom before Heat can even finish stepping inside.

“Serph?” Heat asks, leaning cautiously on the bathroom door. “Hey, uh. Are you okay?”

-

_The waitress leans over, uncomfortably close to him. O’Brien is at the front counter, watching, so he tries to keep his face straight, but he loses all his composure when she murmurs to him, “You’re a lucky girl to be with a cute guy like him.”_

-

Sheffield punches the sink so hard the flesh on his knuckles bursts open. Blood smears across the cold steel.

“Serph?” Heat yells from the other side of the door.

“I’m fine,” Serph says, already sounding calmer than before. He retrieves a brown bottle from under the sink and dabs hydrogen peroxide on his wounds. He skims through the meticulously organized drawer for the Band-Aids.

“What the hell was that noise?” Heat’s voice is panicked.

Serph grips the edge of the counter and forces himself to breathe deeply. The fake upbeat tone is too easy to manufacture. “I’ll be out in a second. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay,” Heat responds, clearly not believing him at all.

Sheffield bites his lip in frustration and wishes he’d punched the sink a little more quietly. He breathes and composes himself before stepping out of the bathroom, if only to keep O’Brien from making up stories in his head.

“Hey,” Sheffield says, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“Serph, what the hell happened to your hand?” Heat asks, voice cracking with concern. “Did you hit the wall?”

“The sink,” Sheffield replies.

“Why? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“O’Brien,” Sheffield says coolly, “Could you please calm down?”

Heat ruffles a bit in response but he sits down on his own bed, opposite him. His eyes dart back and forth between Sheffield’s face and the bandages on his knuckles. Sheffield might have laughed at how overprotective he was being if he wasn’t so pissed off; and if it wasn’t so painfully obvious that O’Brien _would_ act like this.

Slowly, Sheffield begins.

“That woman made two false assumptions about me. One, that I was dating you, and two, that I am female,” he says quietly.

“What?” Heat says, flustered. “She thought we were dating?”

“That’s not what I’m angry about,” Sheffield growls.

Thirty different emotions flash across Heat’s face, with the predominant one being confusion. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t care what she assumed about our relationship.” Sheffield’s tone is hard and his lips are tight. “What I do care about is people making assumptions about other people’s identities.”

Heat is still stuck on the other point. There’s a lightness in his voice. “She thought we were dating? You didn’t say anything?”

“O’Brien, will you shut up and listen to what I’m actually saying?” Sheffield hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Heat’s mouth closes, but then he asks, more gently, “Why are you mad about the other thing she said? You’re obviously not a girl.”

With a deep sigh, Sheffield leans back, propping himself up with his hands. He looks Heat in the eyes. “Is it obvious?” he asks, with a mirthless smile. He suddenly sounds very tired. “I’m glad you think so.”

Confused, Heat stays silent and waits for Sheffield to continue. It allows Sheffield time to regain his composure before going on. He slowly gazes at Heat with dark eyes.

“I was not born as lucky as you were, to always have people assume you’re male by default,” Sheffield says dryly. “When you have no dick, sometimes people get the wrong idea.”

Heat blinks. “I don’t understand.”

He has a look on his face like he wants to ask something more but whatever it is, he keeps it to himself. He seems to recognize that Sheffield has the floor right now.

“I’m trans, Heat,” Sheffield says after a moment. Heat’s brow is furrowed in confusion, a sight Sheffield is used to seeing by now. “Do you know what that means? Or do you need an explanation?”

He knows Heat probably has his own flurry of images conjured up in his mind right now. How accurate any of those images are is the problem, Sheffield thinks with a mental grimace.

Heat scratches the back of his head but says after a moment, “It’s when you’re not the same as when you’re born, right?”

Sheffield shrugs in acknowledgement; all things considered, he supposes he could have said something worse. “Essentially.”

“But,” Heat starts again, the confused expression on his face intensifying every time he says something. “Then, you have… “ He makes a vague gesturing motion towards his own chest.

Sheffield says it so Heat doesn’t have to. “Breasts. That’s correct.”

A shy blush warms up Heat’s cheeks. “Do you, like, tie them up or something? I’ve never even seen them.” He hastily adds, “Not that I’ve been looking, or, care, or anything.”

“You don’t care?” Sheffield asks, sitting back. “About anything that I’m telling you?”

“It’s not that I don't care,” Heat clarifies quickly. “I just don’t… mind.” He scratches the back of his hair as Sheffield watches him curiously. “You’re still the same guy to me.”

“I would hope so,” Sheffield says with a light edge to his voice.

“Nothing about you is different to me,” Heat continues in a soft tone. “If I ever say anything… stupid or wrong, or whatever, just tell me.”

“I intend to.”

“So that’s why you got so mad back there, huh?” Heat mumbles, mostly to himself. “I’m really sorry.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Sheffield replies. “It was out of her own ignorance that she made that assumption. Since you’re so tall and masculine, while I’ve been cursed with this,” Sheffield says, gesturing to himself with a smile that isn’t really a smile, “That I must obviously be female. Especially since she also assumed that we were dating.”

The flash of red across Heat’s cheeks is so obvious that Sheffield wonders how Heat hasn’t noticed his own emotions yet. Sheffield lets him wait. He wants Heat to figure out his own feelings without having to be babysat, especially with gender thrown into the mix, Sheffield thinks with a mental roll of his eyes.

“If that ever happens again and I’m around to hear it, or hell, even if I’m not,” Heat says, “I’ll stand up for you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.” The words come out colder than Sheffield intended, and he sees Heat flinch away. With a sigh, Sheffield adds, “But if you insist on acting on your own, I can’t stop you. My gratitude is not lost on you, either way. Thank you for listening so patiently.”

“Or course,” Heat replies without missing a beat.

“And my statement from earlier still stands. If you ever have anything you want to tell me, then by all means do.”

Heat nods earnestly.

Lifting a hand to the top button of his shirt, Sheffield begins to slowly undo them. Heat stays silent, lips pressed together, watching until the buttons are completely undone. Sheffield rolls his shoulders and lets the shirt fall down to his upper arms, exposing his stomach and the front of his chest. A tight flat piece of fabric runs across where Sheffield’s breasts would have been. Heat’s eyes linger, more out of curiosity than anything else. Only two shadows indicate that there’s anything present underneath at all.

After Heat’s eyes flicker up to meet his gaze again, Sheffield buttons his shirt back up.

“There. Now you’re not allowed to be weird about it,” Sheffield says.

“I – I wouldn’t have – “

“It’s okay, O’Brien,” Sheffield says softly. “I believe you.”


	6. 06.

After Sheffield tells him about it, Heat begins noticing the little rituals he’s been doing all this time that he was just too blockheaded to notice. The pills in the bathroom drawer, which have been meticulously removed from their original packaging and placed into a nondescript bottle. The way Sheffield always wakes up earlier than him and heads to the bathroom straight away, instead of taking a minute to sit on the edge of the bed and wait for consciousness like Heat does.

There are other little quirks, too, that he hasn’t noticed before; the dip in Sheffield’s lithe waist, his smooth neck. His androgynous face, and his small, soft hands –

Heat stops that thought before it leads his mind somewhere he doesn’t want it to go.

He sits on the closed lid of the toilet and stares at the mirror. The surface shines like it’s been cleaned recently. With a grimace, Heat realizes he can see every imperfection on his skin.

_Is this what people want to get to know better?_

He leans back with a grunt.

Why did Sheffield transfer to his dorm? Out of all the places he could have stayed, why did he go out of his way to specifically request this one? What was so special about Heat that he’d go through all the trouble to live with him?

His gaze falls to the sink that Sheffield took his aggression out on the other day. It suddenly angers him that the steel doesn’t have a dent in it, and that Sheffield’s hands took the brunt of the damage. Immediately after he wonders why he’s upset over something so meaningless.

He drags a hand down his face.

“Fuck.”

After ten minutes of moping in the bathroom, Heat trudges out back into the living space. It’s the one day of the week he’s alone for a few hours, since Sheffield has a night class. He wonders vaguely why Sheffield doesn’t just skip it – he’s smart enough to make it up on his own later. He’s probably smart enough to ace _all_ his classes without even going.

Heat sits down at the edge of a bed and stares at the time on his phone. The memory of being half-asleep and Sheffield taking his photo flashes into the front of his mind. He smiles to himself, wondering what he ever ended up doing with it. He falls back onto the mattress, thumbing through his phone absentmindedly, and wonders why he never took a picture of Sheffield for his contact info as well. He makes a mental note to do it when he gets back.

“God, O’Brien, you're an idiot,” he mutters to himself. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The scent registers immediately, and a pit drops in his stomach.

He’s laying in Sheffield’s bed.

He feels himself getting hard.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck_ , no.”

-

He jacks off, but he would rather die than do it in Sheffield’s bed. He does it in the bathroom, hasty and messily into his hand, wracked with guilt but too far gone to stop it.

-

When Sheffield gets back to the dorm and slings his bag onto the floor, Heat is still in the shower. He thinks its strange that he’s showering at this hour since he usually does it in the morning, and nights are Sheffield’s time to bathe. Sheffield glances over at his bed. The comforter is creased slightly where Heat had laid on top of it earlier. Raising a brow, Sheffield steps forward to examine it further. A long blonde hair, left behind, is almost lost among the fabric.

He chuckles to himself.

He slips the shirt off his back and hangs it neatly in the closet. A moment later, his binder comes off, and then the rest of his clothes. He tosses on a loose shirt and boxers. While waiting for Heat to leave the bathroom, he strolls over to Heat’s bed. He pauses slightly before laying down. Instantly Heat's smell is overwhelming; the thick sweaty musk combined with the soft scent of sleep. Sheffield would have been lying if he told himself he didn’t like it.

It’s been a long day, and he’s tired. Sheffield closes his eyes.

-

Heat finally steps out of the bathroom when he's forgotten most of his guilt. His hair is towelled dry but damp, and he's dressed in loose pyjamas. He thinks Sheffield hasn’t come back yet, until he sees him sprawled out on top of his bed. Heat's heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. He almost calls out to him, until he realizes that Sheffield is passed out asleep.

He steps up to the bed carefully, gauging how conscious he is, and concludes that he isn’t at all. Sheffield's face looks soft and peaceful, dark eyelashes fluttered shut against his cheek, lips parted slightly as he draws in shallow breaths. Suddenly Heat wants to touch him, just a quick brush of his hand, or a pet of his hair. He reaches out hesitantly to do so, until he realizes what he’d just done in the bathroom earlier and his arm pulls back like he’s been burned. Sick anxiety burns in his stomach. He hates himself. He feels tainted, like a monster that shouldn’t even be allowed near a person as pure as Sheffield.

Against his innermost desires, he turns away the bed when a small hand touches his arm.

“Don’t go,” Sheffield murmurs, more asleep than awake. His eyes are still shut. Heat wonders if he even knows its him at all.

He sits back down, still wracked with guilt. “I’m here,” Heat says quietly.

Sheffield seems to calm down with his reassurance and drifts for a moment back out of consciousness. When his hand slumps off of Heat’s arm, Heat assumes he’s finally asleep for good and takes his opportunity to escape.

“Heat,” Sheffield’s weak voice comes from below him. A thousand needles stab Heat’s heart.

He looks down to meet Sheffield’s gaze. His eyes flutter open for a second, just to make sure he’s still there.

“Lay down with me,” Sheffield murmurs.

Heat feels his heart burst and explode and rebuild itself again. Given up, he sighs. He drapes himself next to Sheffield, as close as he can be without touching him, but Sheffield shifts to close the gap. Heat's heart beats furiously against his ribs. He can barely breathe. Sheffield nuzzles his forehead against Heat’s chest. Despite all the guilt eating him away inside, Heat lifts an arm, allowing Sheffield to cuddle in closer. He feels high, heart racing, senses overwhelmed by Sheffield’s touch and scent. He’s never been so close to him before, let alone any other man –

A pit drops in Heat’s stomach as it finally hits him. As he examines himself – the horrible thing he did earlier that night, and now embracing Sheffield, and loving it – the realization slams into him like a freight train.

_Fuck. I’m gay._


	7. 07.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _*shows up a million years later with a new chapter* this one's short but i'm back on track now at least... Enjoy_
> 
> _cw: casual incest-but-not-really reference_ ]

He doesn’t remember what happens that night. Nothing important, he’s sure, since he woke up alone in the morning. Had he not remembered falling asleep with Sheffield in his arms it would have been a completely normal night.

_But it wasn’t_ , he thinks with a grimace. 

The bedside clock reads 9:04. He flings the covers off his body, only to discover he’s hard again.

“Fuck you,” Heat mutters to himself. This time, he stubbornly ignores it. 

As he rushes to get dressed, not even bothering to shower or brush anything, he notices a sticky note pressed to the back of the door. He squints and hurriedly finishes dressing himself before snatching the note.

_O’Brien – sorry for what happened last night. I was exhausted and must have mixed up my right and left. Thank you for accompanying me in my selfish desires. I hope, sincerely, that did not make you uncomfortable. I assure you this will not happen again*. Regards – Sheffield._

Heat’s heart sinks into to his stomach. Serph was conscious enough to know he had asked Heat to stay, and even apologized for it, like it was something terrible. Heat holds back a humourless laugh. 

Suddenly the asterisk registers in his mind. Furrowing his brow, he flips the note over.

_*…Unless, you want it to._

Exhilaration swells in his chest and threatens to spill over, and it does, as real genuine laughter, as he stands there like an idiot laughing to himself with the sticky note in hand. With shaking hands he places the note on the bedside table and smooths it out a couple times, before grabbing his backpack and dashing out the door so fast he almost forgets to lock the room. 

“Hey, O’Brien, what’s the rush?” Someone calls to him from the main dorm entrance – a floormate with a backpack thrown lazily over his shoulder. “Chem doesn’t start for 20 minutes!”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I know,” Heat replies, out of breath. He runs a hand back through his hair. “What are you doing out so early, then, Matt?”

“Well, you know, some of us are walking, not runnin’ a race,” Matt responds, bumping Heat on the shoulder. “What’s up this morning? You’re lookin’ real happy.” He leans in. “You get laid last night, bro?”

“What?” Heat exclaims, knowing that he looks more flustered than he wants to. “No, Christ. I just woke up in a good mood. It’s nothing like that.”

Matt grins as if he doesn’t believe him but replies, “Okay, my man, whatever you say. Hope it wasn’t anybody on our floor. You know what they say about floorcest.”

Heat rolls his eyes at the mention of the college taboo about not sleeping with anybody on your dorm floor. 

“Okay, okay, leave me alone already,” Heat says, half-grinning, pushing Matt away. “I’ll let you know if anything happens.” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he’s not sure why he said them. Something about walking on air makes him feel more sociable than usual.

“O’Brien, what a guy! Look at this guy!” Matt says, gesturing to him with both hands. Another one of their floor mates, a girl named Kim he recognizes as the one who overheard his conversation with the floor supervisor before Serph first moved in, giggles along with Matt and waves a hand at Heat. Heat raises a hand slightly in acknowledgement before he realizes what he’s doing.

Oh my God, what is wrong with me?

As Matt slaps him good-naturedly on the shoulder before letting him leave, Heat looks back over his shoulder at Kim, whose still smiling at him. He feels himself smile back, and realizes that everything Sheffield said earlier about him was true.


	8. 08.

Sheffield twirls his pen in hand. The lecturer is background noise. He’s bored out of his wits and wonders loosely why he even bothers attending class. Recently he’s taken to sitting up further, closer to the professor, more to be visible than anything else. He answers questions, but only when nobody else wants to. Nothing irritates him more than the awkward silence of a room full of people who don’t know the answer, or are too ready to sit back and let the question dangle uselessly in the air like a corpse. With every “difficult” question answered, the professor registers him as someone who listens, absorbs the course material. Gold stars. When the time comes for letters of recommendation, the professor will remember the dark haired boy in the front row, with piercing eyes like a hawk.

When an hour and a half passes and the professor calls a break, the majority of the class gets up and leaves to take advantage of the time to stretch their legs or get something to eat. Sheffield stays seated. He slides the phone out of his pocket. The image of Heat he took all that time ago, sleepy eyed and hair mussed, is still set as his lock screen. It’s a miracle Heat hasn't noticed it by now, Sheffield thinks with a wry grin. It’s not like he’s gone through any particular effort to hide it. Maybe its for the better, he thinks, thumbing past the lock. O’Brien is already a ball of nerves when it comes to him. He might just have a heart attack and die if he realized Sheffield had access to a vulnerable looking picture of him at his whim.

He opens a new text message to Heat.

_Did you see the message I left you?_

The return message comes back faster than Sheffield is expecting. He smirks a little bit. Even when he’s in class, O’Brien can’t keep his cool.

_Ya. Its ok. I didn’t mind._

Of course he didn’t. Sheffield flits the pen with his free hand and types a response with his other thumb. 

_Did you see the fine print?_ He adds a grinning cat emoji to the end of the sentence, but erases it before sending. 

Heat’s response takes longer this time. Sheffield surmises that he’s spent most of that time staring at the screen trying to formulate a response instead of typing one. 

_Ya._

A moment later.

_:)_

Sheffield smiles ear to ear with narrowed eyes. 

As the professor walks back into the room and begins setting up again, Sheffield texts, 

_Prof’s here. See you tonight. Walk w me after dinner?_

Heat’s reply comes almost immediately; Sheffield can imagine the placement of the exclamation mark, and then cautious removal of it.

_For sure._

Sheffield slips the phone back in his pocket as the lecture resumes. His body feels light. His mind is crystal clear, sharp like the edge of a knife. He doesn’t know exactly where this charade is going to lead, but he thinks he likes it.


	9. 09.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[cw: pregnancy mention]_

On the way out of class and back to the dorm, a particular sign that he’s walked by hundreds of times but hasn’t really seen until now sticks out at him. He fumbles in his step, self-conscious now that people are looking at him. At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a door leading to a hallway. With a halfway glance over his shoulder, he realizes nobody is paying attention to him, and he takes the first step down.

An opened door is the first on the left, with the lights turned on and voices coming from inside. He meekly steps forward. A brightly decorated sign that states “Pride” confirms what he already knows.

“Hey! Welcome to Pride – oh, oh my god, Heat?”

He turns quickly at the mention of his name. His eyes widen in surprise as a familiar face greets him from the front desk.

“Kim?” He flushes slightly – he wasn’t expecting anybody he knew to be here.

Seeming to understand his embarrassment, she vaguely gestures with her hand as she asks, “Were you looking for me, or…?”

Heat looks down at his shoes. “No, I was, uh. Looking for. Here.”

Kim shrugs. “Well, welcome! Is there anything you needed help with or do you just wanna look around on your own?”

He casts a gaze around the room, spacious, colourful and scattered with people he doesn’t recognize, and he realizes he would feel more comfortable talking to her. “Yeah, I do need help. Kind of. Well, not help, just someone to talk about… shit… with.” He runs a hand back through his hair awkwardly.

She pats the seat next to her, another comfortable swivelling chair. “Come sit behind the desk with me. There’s not too many people who walk in who aren’t regulars, so we should be pretty private unless we get any more surprises today.” He tries to return her smile but it’s muddied by how suddenly shy and overwhelmed he feels. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she adds reassuringly. 

He nods.

She sits, dark hands folded in her lap.

“I don’t really know where to start, I guess,” he mutters. 

“Start in the middle.”

“Okay… Uh. Well, I – “ he looks over his shoulder before looking back at her, letting his hair fall over his face. “I think I like, a guy.”

Kim nods encouragingly but her expression doesn’t change. “Go on.”

“I’ve never liked a guy before,” Heat says bluntly. 

“That’s okay.” She leans in a little with mischievous eyes, as if to tell him a secret. “I’ve actually never liked guys either until recently. So we’re kind of in the same boat.”

“You haven’t?” Heat whispers. Kim laughs, leaning back to her previous position.

“Nope. Never liked ‘em until I met this cute guy in my class this year.”

“So you’re… a lesbian?” The word sounds strange and foreign on Heat’s tongue, and he almost feels embarrassed using it, even though he realizes there isn’t anything to be embarrassed about.

“I used to think I was, yeah. I identify more as bisexual now. Guys, girls, whoever.”

Heat blinks, lowering his eyes while he thinks before responding. “Maybe I’m… bisexual, too?”

“Maybe,” Kim says with a friendly shrug. “Did you want to talk about the guy you like? Or is there another reason you came?”

Heat’s face flushes before he can even try to control it. “That’s the thing…”

As Kim watches him expectantly, he suddenly wants to punch himself for being horrible with words. If he were half as good as Sheffield at speaking this wouldn’t be so difficult. Just the thought of Sheffield makes his whole body warm up and he has to snap himself back to reality before he loses himself in his mind.

“He’s not a guy like me,” he mumbles, throwing his hair back out of his eye. 

“Not tall and blonde?” Kim asks playfully.

Heat manages a shy smile in appreciation. “No, not like that. Well, it’s true, but…”

“Opposite of tall and blonde, huh? Then he’s short with dark hair?” she asks, tapping a finger to her chin in thought.

“Yeah,” Heat says with an enthusiastic nod. Too enthusiastic, he realizes a moment later. He adds quickly, “Anyway, I didn’t mean his appearance, I meant like… he’s not a guy in the same way I am.”

To his relief, Kim seems to understand what he means without him having to say it. And when she does say it when he couldn’t manage to, he feels a deep wave of shame wash over him. “He’s trans?”

Heat nods without a word, head lowered slightly.

Her face turns serious for a moment as she looks him in the eye. “You guys are using protection, right? I mean, you should be using it anyway, but, you know, with the risk of pregnancy – “

“Oh my god! No, we’re not – “ Heat realizes how loud he’s begun to yell when the hot gazes of other people in the room are on him. He slumps back in the chair, forcing himself to relax. The hair has fallen over his face again but this time he welcomes being hidden away. When the fuss has died down and everyone has gone back to their own business, he adds in a muffled voice, “We’re not doing it. I mean, if we were, I obviously would, but we’re not, so it’s not an issue. Plus, I don’t even think he knows I like him. Or, fuck, I don’t know. He probably does by now. Or maybe he just thinks I’m a fucking perv because of the time we slept together and I woke up with a huge fucking boner – “

“Slept together, as in - ?”

“Not like that,” Heat grunts. “Just, sleeping together, like. Not sexually. It wasn’t a big deal, he’s just my roommate so he was there anyway and – Fuck.” He slaps his hand against his uncovered eye and sinks back in his chair. “Fuck.”

Kim leans in and whispers, “Serph? Seriously?”

Heat leans in hurriedly and whispers back, “Yeah, but you can’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t know how obvious it is I like him. And I don’t want people finding about the gender thing.” A panicked thought races through his mind and makes his blood run cold. “Oh, fuck, you don’t think the floor supervisors would kick him out of my dorm, would you? I mean, if anyone found out.” He gazes with wide-eyes at her. “They won’t, right?”

“No, Heat, of course not,” Kim says, shaking her head. “If there’s things you guys don’t want getting out, they won’t. And I don’t think the dorm headmasters care, if they don’t already know. Wasn't Serph the one who transferred himself to your room in the first place? He’s such a weird guy. And I mean that in the best way,” she adds. “You have nothing to worry about, Heat. He probably threatened the whole school with a lawsuit or something if they wouldn’t let you guys room together because of that.”

“Do you think so?” Heat asks, thinking about it. “I never thought about it like that before… It did seem kind of strange that he transferred in the first place. I’d never even met him before that.”

Kim shrugs and then winks as she says, “Who knows if it was the room he wanted, or you?”

His cheeks turn red. “Don’t say shit like that,” he mumbles with the tiniest hint of a smile. “He didn’t even know me. It was probably the room. It’s got a… nice window.”

Kim giggles and Heat’s smile widens. 

“Hey, I’m glad you came down to talk,” she says, touching a hand lightly to his arm. “I’ve always seen you in our hall but was too – “

“Intimidated?”

“Maybe. Intimidated? Shy?” She shrugs. “Too something to ever actually strike anything up with you. You’re actually a really sweet guy.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles with a meek smile, looking off to the side. “Thanks for listening to me, too. I’m sorry for running my fucking mouth, probably. When I get going I can’t stop.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You know where to find me if you ever need to talk again. I’m always either here or in my dorm. You’re 409, right?”

“Oh, our room? Yeah, its 409.”

“I’m 405. Our door’s usually open all the time anyway, so just pop in whenever if you’re too lazy to walk all the way here. Or embarrassed.” Heat realizes she must have noticed he’s been hanging his head sheepishly the entire time. “I know a lot of us are more colourful or … overbearing, than what you’re probably used to. But don’t be scared of us or anything. If anything, we’re all probably more scared of you.”

Heat blinks, recalling Sheffield’s words. “Why?”

“Well, you look like a straight guy. I know there’s no ‘look’ for sexuality, but come on, you know what I mean, right?”

“I guess,” he says, glancing himself over. “Do I look… scary?”

“Not when you smile, no,” Kim says with a glance into his eyes. “But you’re tall and rugged and probably look like the same guys who bullied a lot of us kids in high school.” She narrows her eyes playfully. “What program did you say you were in again?”

“Science,” Heat mumbles. “Majoring in genetics.”

Kim throws her head back with a laugh. “You’re a science nerd too? I never would have pinned you for that one. That must be why I always see you and Serph studying together. Are you helping him study or is it the other way around?”

“It’s… kind of. Him knowing what to do already and me struggling to explain anything. I’m kind of glad he understands the course material because I can’t put my thoughts into words for shit.”

“I think you did a decent job of it today,” Kim says. There’s a warm look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Heat. You don’t come off as confusing as you think you do.”

He dips his head slightly in gratitude. “I should probably get going,” he says, casting a glance at the time on his phone. 

“You have a date?” Kim asks with a grin.

Heat blushes and mutters, “Does a walk outside after dinner count as a date?” 

“Sounds like one to me. But it doesn’t count unless he knows it's a date too!”

“I know, I know,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Besides, he’s the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Kim giggles and then realizes something with a gasp. “Hang on,” she says before rummaging through a display of pamphlets and then scooping something up from a drawer hidden away near the bottom of the desk. “Take these.”

She slips a glossy pamphlet into his hand and then – to Heat’s horror – a handful of condoms into his other palm. When he opens his mouth to protest, she interrupts him. “Listen. It doesn’t matter if you never use these and they disintegrate in your bedside table. Just keep them. You never know if or when you might need them.”

He closes his mouth, flustered, but pockets the condoms and shoves the pamphlet into his jacket. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “They’re probably gonna rot, but – “

“Keep them somewhere cool and dry,” Kim says with a stern nod of her finger. “The last thing you need is a torn condom.”

“Kim – “ Heat sighs in exasperation.

“Go, go on!” She leans forward in her swivel chair, shooing him out the door. “Go and have your romantic walk! Tell me all the details later!”

Heat hurries out the door feeling lighter than he did when he came in. He tosses Kim a last grateful glance over his shoulder before pushing the door out into the stairwell and rushing up the spiral staircase.


	10. 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[cw: loose self-harm warning]_

The wind is crisp with cold and the musky rot of decaying leaves hangs in the air. An inadvertent chill makes Sheffield tighten the fur scarf around his neck, letting his fingers curl on the soft rabbit hairs as he lets his mind wander. Students have mostly dispersed for the evening, either huddled away in the warmth of their dorm rooms, or are trudging back from late classes. For a moment, he feels like a fool, waiting outside, but something about the sensation of cold makes his soul feel clear. It’s harder to sit down and analyze himself, compared to the ease of doing it to other people, but he thinks he likes the discomfort. The sting of frigid air on his flesh registers as pain but it’s pleasant; it makes him feel alive.

Cigarette smoke ghosts past him and he inhales it. A female student on the far side of the door throws the cigarette to the ground, grinding it under her boot before heading back inside. Sheffield leans against the brick wall. 

He straightens his back.

The lack of sunlight makes something churn within him. He clenches and unclenches the fist in his pocket while his other hand dangles at his side, flexing like thin claws. The words of the waitress flash red across his mind and he inhales sharply, digging his nails into his own palm so hard it breaks the skin. The pain registers and he exhales, letting his fingers dangle again. He doesn’t bother examining the wound. 

From the distance a rowdy group of male students approaches the dorm. Sheffield narrows his eyes. He hates noise. He hates crowds. The unpredictable nature of too many people in the same place at once. Of course, even groups of people had their own patterns of behaviour – young, male, prone to unprovoked intrusions of other peoples business, sometimes violence – but he also just doesn’t fucking like them.

Their presence alone sets him on edge, but it’s impossible to tell from his expression. His face and posture keeps neutral but his hands, thrust into his deep coat pockets, flex like cat’s claws.

Every time a group of men passes him he half expects a confrontation, and half seeks one. 

They’re too consumed in their own vapid conversation to pay Sheffield a glance. His hackles fall and his claws revert to dainty fingers as the imagined danger passes. He feels a vague sense of disappointment.

The main door swings open and Heat bursts through, face flush with embarrassment and exertion.

“Oh, Christ, I’m sorry, I’m fucking late again, aren’t I?” he gasps. 

Sheffield knows without even casting a glance at his watch that he is late. 

“You are?” he asks with a tilt of his head. “I must have spaced out and not noticed.” He gives Heat a small smile. 

Lowering his head into a grateful nod, Heat pushes off the wall with his shoulders to join Sheffield, who is already ahead. They walk in silence, following their usual route around campus. Almost all the noise has died down, except for the roar of cars in the distance, the howl of the cold wind, and the crunch of leaves under their feet.

Heat’s barely contained excitement crackles in the air. It radiates off of him in waves, and Sheffield can sense the high of his mood without even seeing the smile on his face. He must still be thinking about the note on the door earlier, Sheffield muses with a wry smile. 

He notices Heat’s hand dangling by his side.

“How were your classes today? Chemistry, math, and psych, right?” Sheffield asks.

Heat nods. He doesn’t seem surprised that Sheffield knows his every day schedule anymore. It seems like he knows just about everything.

“Everything was good. Psych was dry as usual, though,” Heat says, grinning down at him.

Sheffield closes his eyes with a chuckle. “You think operant conditioning is dry?”

“How’d you know we were doing that?”

“Please, O’Brien. You fell asleep the other night with your face in the textbook,” Sheffield says. Heat blushes. “Skinner’s work is very interesting. I can’t believe you’re not into it.”

“Oh my god, Sheffield,” Heat says, exasperated but laughing. “There’s like three hundred categories of it and they all sound the same. I don't even know how you memorize them.”

Sheffield snorts a laugh. “There’s only four. Positive, negative. Reinforcement, punishment. It’s simple.”

“You’re like a psychology genius, of course you remember them all!” Heat slumps down on a bench, then instantly jolting upright. “Shit, it’s freezing.” He rubs his hands together furiously, blowing inside them. 

Sheffield notices his hair has gotten longer. It falls over his face, covering one eye entirely, flipping out at the tips where it meets his shoulders. Its especially tousled because of the thick collar of his coat. Tufts of golden blonde hair splay in all directions. Something inside Sheffield makes him want to reach out and touch it. But he doesn’t.

“Hey, you’re gonna freeze your ass standing over there,” Heat says. “Come sit down.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Sheffield remains where he is for a moment. He inhales deeply. The cold air feels clean, as if its cleansing the impurities from his lungs. He exhales a foggy breath before striding over to the bench and taking his spot next to Heat. They feel each other’s warmth through their coats. Heat sinks against him ever so slightly. 

For a moment, Sheffield feels clear. Clean. Dark and pure as the starless sky above. The air snaps with cold. He feels himself drift from the confines of his body. His eyelashes flutter shut and he leans on Heat’s shoulder with a deep sigh. 

Time slows. It ticks on his watch like a tiny heartbeat. Sheffield unfurls his hand and lays it palm up in his lap. A smile tugs at his lips; he wonders how long it will take. Not too long.

Heat’s eyes trace the lines on Sheffield’s hand. Grunting, he takes off one knit glove and hands it to him. “Your hand’s gonna freeze and fall off.”

Sheffield shakes his head slightly in disappointment, but slips the glove on his free hand anyway. Out of his own stubbornness, he snatches Heat’s naked hand before he can pull it back and firmly interlocks their fingers. Heat’s whole body tenses like he’s going to say something but Sheffield doesn’t want any of what he’s about to say; he wants the silence. He wants to remain clean.

“Don’t speak,” Sheffield mutters, eyes closed. 

Frigid wind roars in the branches above their heads. Sheffield leans back into the hard wood and savours the warmth of Heat’s fingers in his. 

His body feels grounded, but his soul feels very far away. Sheffield’s eyelashes flutter open and he stares into the blackness of the sky. 

A light inside speaks to him. _Maybe you are wrong._

 _Maybe I am,_ Sheffield thinks. He slips out of Heat’s grasp to remove his glove he was given earlier, almost angrily, before snatching Heat’s hand back in his. His flesh is warm, alive, like blazing fire. 

_It’s dangerous to let this happen,_ the light says. 

_I know,_ Sheffield replies. 

He settles his palm against Heat’s, fingers intertwined.

“Just let me for once…” Sheffield isn’t sure who he’s talking to anymore.

An eternity passes. One where he’s not confined to his physical form. He is clean, and pure.

Snow floats down from the sky, sparkling in the blackness like stars. Heat’s hand is warm in his. The ashes of rage in the pit of Sheffield’s stomach has died down, almost entirely for the first time in the longest time he can remember. It’s strange, almost, to not feel it. For some reason, he wants to cry. 

Heat lets the moment go on for as long as he needs it to. When he’s finally ready, Sheffield exhales a cold breath and stands up, loosening his hand from Heat’s. The disappointment that rolls off from Heat is quite sad.

“Let’s go,” Sheffield says softly.

A loose layer of snow falls off Heat’s coat as he joins Sheffield’s side. 

“What happened with you back there?” Heat asks. “I’ve never seen you so relaxed.”

Sheffield doesn’t answer for a moment. He walks slightly ahead.

“Do you like the pain of the cold?” he asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“When it bites your skin and claws at your throat from the inside,” Sheffield continues calmly. “Doesn’t it give you a thrill?”

“I… can’t say that it does, no.”

Sheffield shakes his head, mostly to himself. “It’s such a rush, to know that you’re alive and can feel all this pain, and _like it_. The feeling of your body crying out because it’s being hurt. I love it.”

Heat doesn’t say anything. Sheffield doesn’t expect him to. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” Sheffield says. 

Heat nods. “Anything.” He shakes his head quickly. “I meant anytime.”

With a soft chuckle, Sheffield turns back towards him. He lets his eyes wander over Heat, looking through him. Past his physical form. 

“You’re exactly what I expected,” Sheffield says. His voice has an odd quality, like he’s speaking from somewhere far away. “But sometimes, you also manage to surprise me. And that’s not very easy to do.”

Heat shrugs sheepishly, but seems to appreciate the overarching compliment.

The air is silent now, and Sheffield realizes he’s been gone for far too long. 

“Come on,” he says suddenly, his tone more grounded than before. “Let’s get back to the dorm before we both freeze to death.”


	11. 11.

Back at the dorm, Sheffield starts stripping. He throws off all his bulky clothes, and tosses his rabbit fur scarf over the back of a chair, until he’s only in boxers and a loose white sweater that exposes his clavicles. Heat almost does a double take as he’s still hanging his own clothes. Something seems different about him, and he doesn’t notice until Sheffield half turns towards him. The soft curve of his breast underneath the sweater makes Heat’s breath catch in his throat.

“You’re not wearing your – “

“No, I wasn’t the whole time,” Sheffield interrupts, sounding tired. “There was no point when I had on all those heavy clothes. It wasn’t like anyone was going to notice anyway. Except now.”

Heat nods and turns away from him again in embarrassment. As he’s fumbling with his coat, he drops it by accident. Heat grunts and bends over to pick them up before he realizes something fell out of his pocket.

“Shit,” Heat mutters. A horrified chill runs through him at the sight of the condoms. “Fuck.”

As he desperately scoops them up, he hears Sheffield laugh behind him.

“Really, O’Brien?”

“No, no no,” Heat stammers, shoving them back inside frantically. “I didn’t buy these.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t have to buy them,” Sheffield says wryly. 

“A girl, my friend, gave them to me – “ The pamphlet stashed inside falls out, displaced as Heat stuffs his fist in the pocket.

“Your friend who is a girl gave you condoms for some reason,” Sheffield states, amused. His eyes dart briefly to the pamphlet, but not long enough to see what’s written on it. 

“Oh, come on, now you’re being a dick,” Heat says, face flushed with embarrassment. “She’s not just my friend, she works at the – “ Heat stops talking and groans a little. 

“Where?”

“The fucking. Pride club. You know, the one with the.” Heat sighs. “The rainbows?”

“I know what it is,” Sheffield says with a smirk. “Did she just pile them on you when you walked in? It seems like the type of place where that’s common practice.”

Heat flips his hair back sheepishly. “No, she… She actually gave them to me when I mentioned – fuck. Can we just drop the condoms thing? I’m not ever going to use these.”

Sheffield swings one leg over the other and braces himself on his elbow with an amused expression. “No, tell me! What did you mention to her that she found the need to give you protection?”

“Serph,” Heat groans.

He knows there’s no use trying to get out of Sheffield’s grasp. He feels like a cornered animal.

“I mentioned being interested in someone, okay?” Heat mutters, leaving the coat where it is and slumping into his chair so that Sheffield can’t see his entire face. “She asked me about them, and then gave me a bunch of those.”

“ _Them?_ ” Sheffield presses.

Heat almost glares at him with his one visible eye. “Him.”

“Oh?” Sheffield sounds surprised, enough that Heat can’t tell if he’s being genuine or just toying with him. “I didn’t know you were interested in men, O’Brien.”

Heat sinks deeper into the chair. “Me neither,” he mumbles.

“Well, I hope he likes you back,” Sheffield says, “You’re certainly handsome and intelligent enough to warrant it.”

Something flares in the pit of Heat’s stomach – an opportunity. This could have been when he made it happen. Instead, he blurts out, “You’re not going to ask who it is?”

Sheffield blinks. His dark eyes are warm. “No. Why would I? That's your own business. Unless you offer that information up to me on your own, I would never badger you about something like that.”

Heat’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. He closes it, and leans back, realizing he had lunged forward in disbelief. A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feels overly warm. The opportunity still beats feverishly in his stomach, waiting for its chance. Heat keeps it forced down. 

In the midst of Heat’s inner turmoil, Sheffield’s gaze drifts back to the pamphlet left lying on the floor. “What’s that one?” he asks, gesturing with a finger. “How to _use_ the condom?”

“Oh,” Heat says, shoulders relaxing slightly. “No. It’s um, information about, uh, trans people.”

Sheffield’s face falls. All sense of tranquility vanishes. 

“Did you pick that up yourself?” he asks stiffly. 

“No,” Heat says, shaking his head with a brow furrowed in concentration as he recalls the event. “The same girl gave me that.”

The blood in Sheffield’s veins runs ice cold. He tenses like an animal ready to sink its fangs into its prey’s throat. 

“Why?” The word drips venom.

Heat notices the angry look on Sheffield’s face, but doesn’t understand why he’s upset. His tone comes out cautious, “I mentioned that… the guy was, uh – “

Heat realizes with horror halfway through his train of thought that from his description Sheffield could obviously figure out that he was talking about _him_ , that he was the one he was interested in, and Heat feels overwhelmingly stupid - 

In a flash of white and black Sheffield lunges and snatches Heat’s collar in his hands and hauls him upwards, spitting in his face, “You _told_ her?”

Heat’s eyes widen at the ferocity of Sheffield’s expression. His heart beats wildly in his chest but his mind is racing. He doesn’t know why Sheffield is so angry. 

He replies defensively, “Told her that it’s you? That you were the guy? Well, sorry that one person knows I have a crush on -”

“No!” Sheffield screams, fangs bared, eyes burning. “You told her about me? What fucking right do you have?”

“What!?”

The claws fisted in his shirt collar tighten painfully, scratching Heat’s skin. “You fucking piece of shit,” Sheffield growls. His arms are trembling. “I can’t believe you.”

“Serph, what the hell is wrong with you? Let go!” Heat tries to grab Sheffield’s wrist but has it slapped away immediately. He snarls, “Why are you so pissed off?”

“Why am I so pissed off - why the hell is he so fucking pissed off! It can’t have been anything _I’ve_ done, I’m just a simple minded fucking cis man and everything is too hard to understand!” Sheffield mocks. He throws Heat back, slamming him into the bed frame. Hands balled into fists, Sheffield takes one step away from him like he’s going to leave, then turns like lightning and smacks Heat across the face. Eyes blazing with wildfire, he readies himself to do it again but this time Heat blocks his face with his forearm, wincing. Sheffield sees the fight in Heat’s eyes and he suddenly wants to dig his claws in and gouge them out. 

Sheffield turns on his heel and storms out of the room.


	12. 12.

The stinging sensation on his face hurts more later, as he lays on his back and stares at the ceiling.

His stomach feels like tar. His heart feels like something worse.


	13. 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[cw: self harm]_

An overwhelming rage seeps like poison through his blood. He coughs, storming down the hall. The air in his lungs is papery and dry, and he can barely breathe. Fire torches his organs from the inside, threatening to overflow from his lips in spitting anger. He wants to crush someone’s skull between his claws. The hallway is empty but he wishes someone would show up so he has something to take out his fury on. Nothing could stop him from hurting somebody right now, he knows that, and it scares him – but the fact that he could do it without regret scares him even more. 

He bursts through the main door into the cold darkness and wanders, aimlessly, letting his legs carry him where they will. Sickening power churns within him and it feels good, he realizes, like there’s an animal below the surface of his skin, ready to burst from his chest and kill everyone he hates. 

Mind consumed with thoughts of violence, he ends up at the deserted campus park. Loose woodland shields a river that runs through the farthest edge of the property. He kneels by the water. He’s still only wearing a sweater and underwear, and the skin of his knee is no protection from the frozen earth crushed underneath him. It’s nice. But it’s not the pain he wants to feel right now. 

Sheffield reaches a hand into the ice cold water, shuddering, revelling in the horrible sensation running up his arm and down his spine. He pulls back, reaches under his sweater, and drags a freezing claw through his skin, tearing a horizontal line that beads with fresh blood. He crosses it in the other direction. With a shaky humourless laugh, he drops his hand back in the frigid pool, repeating the ritual until both his breasts are scored with long horizontal crosses, painting his pale chest like shooting stars in the night sky.


	14. 14.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[cw: self harm]_

Heat has a fitful sleep. How he even gets to sleep in the first place is beyond him. He realizes he must have passed out while lying on the bed waiting for Serph to return. 

A nightmare during his brief period of unconsciousness is what rouses him. He lifts his head with a groan, remembering the strange ghostly sensation of having his chest ripped open. With a shaky exhale, he touches the skin there, making sure it’s still there. He feels childish when it’s fine. Of course it’s fine.

He looks at the clock. An hour has passed since Serph stormed out and he still hasn’t returned, and Heat is starting to get sick with worry. The anxiety is worming its way into his thoughts – the worst possible situations, and as hard as Heat tries to calm himself, they don’t go away. The image of Serph lost, cold; or worse, sick or hurt, or dead - 

Heat’s face screws up. He bolts out of bed, grabs his coat, and runs.

Outside the dorm, the air crackles with cold. It makes his anxiety worse. He searches their most frequented areas first, only to find nothing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

His heartbeat thickens. Threatens to burst. 

He quickens his pace. The campus is silent and empty. Serph should have been easy to spot with any sign of motion. 

A horrible sense of dread crawls up his spine, but he kills the train of thought before it can manifest this time.

He doesn’t want to call out. He knows Serph would hate it, and he already hates him enough right now. Heat’s face still stings from earlier, and he feels like a wounded dog. 

Something catches his eye after running almost to the edge of campus. An off center young tree, with a few roots ripped out and bark missing, as if swiped at by an animal. The only creature he can think of that could have made the claw marks is a black bear. Suddenly worried for Serph’s safety, Heat looks towards the path the perpetrator would have taken, towards the quiet rush of the river. 

“Serph?” he calls. He pushes a branch out of his way and steps clumsily over a fallen log. He doesn’t realize he’s being scratches up. Twigs snap under his feet loudly in the night’s silence. 

Heat finally spots the pale form crouched in the stones of the shore, knees skinned, peering back at him. The whites of his eyes glint in the darkness. 

“Oh my god, Serph!” Heat scrambles over to him and kneels down. “What are you doing here? Are you okay? Oh my god, your hands – “

The tips of his fingers are spattered with blood. They dangle just above the surface of the water as Sheffield perches, barefoot on the cold, wet rocks. Shudders wrack his whole body, but he doesn’t even seem to notice them. Heat feels his stomach drop. 

Sheffield just keeps staring at him with wide eyes. 

“I was just cleansing myself,” Sheffield says in a voice that makes Heat’s skin crawl. He rips his coat off and places it around Sheffield’s shoulders. 

“Serph, you’re freaking me out! Come on, get up, we have to go back – “

Sheffield’s eyelids droop halfway shut as Heat rambles on, as if the daze passes and he finally registers who is speaking to him. 

“Do we?” Sheffield asks suddenly. “I was enjoying myself here by the river. It’s nice when no one’s around.”

“Serph, please.” Heat doesn’t realize he’s yelling. He holds the smaller man firmly by the shoulders and gazes pleadingly into his eyes. “Please come back with me. I know you’re pissed off, and you have every right to be, but you’re scaring the shit out of me right now. Please come back.”

Sheffield closes his eyes in resignation but says, “I’m not done with you.”

“Fine, just – come on, _please._ ”

Sighing in relief, Heat furiously unties his boots. Sheffield lifts his feet compliantly as Heat shoves them on with shaking hands. Heat guides him on the way back to the building, bracing Sheffield’s shivering frame as if he could collapse at any second. 

Heat fumbles with the dorm key, and when they’re inside makes sure Sheffield is sitting upright on the bed before he hurtles into his drawer, pulling out every spare blanket and flannel shirt he owns. 

“Serph, you have to change out of those clothes, they’re probably all wet,” he says, carrying the pile to the bed. “I don’t know what you were fucking thinking, getting wet in this weather.” He sounds angrier than he means to, but he’s too preoccupied with getting Sheffield’s coat off to amend it. 

“It’s warm.”

“Serph. I’m taking it off.”

Expression neutral, Sheffield lifts his arms to allow Heat to remove it. The action strikes Heat as strangely child-like and makes something in his chest hurt. He throws the coat to the floor and is about to lift the sweater over Sheffield’s head as well, before he notices the red streaks seeping through the fabric. His heart drops.

“What the – Serph, what happened?” 

Sheffield blinks, gaze foggy. He slips the sweater off his body, letting it fall to the floor, exposing his pale naked skin. Scores of red cuts glint with blood in the light of the room. Heat’s jaw drops in horror. Shivers wrack his whole body. He feels sick. Sheffield’s entire torso is covered in the crossed markings, all aligned in parallel horizontal lines, as if he drew them in perfect unison on purpose. 

The deepest wounds are on his breasts. 

Heat stumbles over himself rushing to the bathroom and comes back with a brown bottle and cotton swabs. He drops to his knees on the floor in front of Sheffield and pours hydrogen peroxide on one of the cotton balls with trembling hands. 

“Serph,” he mumbles, voice shaking as hard as his hands are. “Why?”

A glint of recognition flickers in Sheffield’s dark eyes. He winces slightly as Heat presses the wet cotton ball down on a wound. “Something had to give,” he says.

“Why did you hurt yourself?” Heat asks again, louder, looking up at him with his brow furrowed in anger and concern. Tears are forming in the corner of his eyes and he doesn’t bother trying to hide them. 

“It didn’t hurt,” Sheffield murmurs. “I feel better now than I did before.”

“What do you mean, it didn’t hurt? You’re bleeding!” Voice cracking with a barely stifled sob, Heat throws the used cotton ball aside and prepares another one. Half of the hydrogen peroxide spills on the floor because of his shaky grip. 

“You’re a fool,” Sheffield says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Heat mutters, tears falling freely from his eyes now. He swabs across a particularly deep wound on one of Sheffield’s breasts and he tenses at the tiny pained noise in the back of Sheffield’s throat. Heat feels his heart break.

“It’s okay,” Sheffield says, sighing. The fluid seeping into his open wounds stings more than the actual wounds do.

When the blood is cleaned and the cuts have been thoroughly disinfected, Heat runs to the bathroom to find bandages. 

Sheffield down at his body curiously. He finds the carefully carved marking on his body intriguing, as if painted with claws on his canvas of flesh. A strange wave of calm envelops him. He flexes his fingers. They are still stiff with cold.

After Heat comes back with a tube of Polysporin and bandages, he painstakingly applies it before placing the bandages over every single junction where the wounds cross, then longer bandages on top of those. The trail of tears on Heat’s cheeks are still damp.

“There,” he says, sitting back on his knees and wiping his face in the crook of his arm. “I’ll get you a clean shirt.”

Sheffield sits patiently where he is. A moment later Heat comes back over with a loose t-shirt.

“That’s one of yours,” Sheffield states. 

“Yeah,” Heat grunts awkwardly. “Here, come on. Lift your arms for me.”

Sheffield complies, gingerly, to not disturb Heat’s careful bandaging. The shirt slips loosely over his head. The fabric is soft and comfortable. 

“I didn’t want you to wear a tight shirt on top of your bandages in case they brushed against them and scraped off or something,” Heat mumbles. He adds a moment later, “You don't have to wear it if you don’t want to. I can find one of your shirts if you want.”

Sheffield shakes his head.

“Oh. Okay.”

“O’Brien,” Sheffield says suddenly in a quiet voice. He still looks out of it, but he looks up to meet Heat’s eyes.

“What – what is it?” Heat asks. 

“I’m cold,” Sheffield says.

Heat looks around the room for an extra blanket or comforter, or anything he can use to pile on top of him. Nothing.

“Come here.”

Weakly, Sheffield pats the bed next to him. Heat hesitates before slumping next to him, close but leaving an inch gap between their arms.

“I’m cold and I’m tired,” Sheffield says softly. “I want you to sleep with me tonight.” He pauses. “I am still upset with you.”

Heat nods. “I know. I’m – “

“Don’t apologize to me right now. I’m too tired.” Sheffield descends onto his side, trying not to agitate his wounds. “Come here.”

With a glance down, as if really making sure that’s what he wants, Heat lays down next to him, face to face. The weight of exhaustion suddenly bears down on him, and he realizes how tired he is. He yawns.

“It’s Saturday today so you don’t have to wake up early,” Sheffield murmurs.

“It’s Friday,” Heat mutters with his eyes closed. He opens them to cast a glance at his watch. “Oh. I didn’t realize how late it was. You’re right.”

“I know.” Shifting forward, Sheffield presses his forehead to Heat’s chest. “Hold me.”

He does, with some hesitation. Draping one arm around Sheffield’s back, he uses the other hand to slowly pet his dark hair. Emotion wells up in his chest and he feels like crying again.

“I was really scared tonight,” Heat says quietly. 

It takes a moment for Sheffield to reply.

“I know.”

Sheffield doesn’t say anything else, so Heat continues to pet him, if only for his own comfort. The rhythmic stroke of Heat’s hand against his back is comforting. He starts drifting.

“Make sure my temperature doesn’t get too high or low during the night,” Sheffield mumbles against his chest. “I don’t want to go into shock.”

Heat nods. “Alright.”

“O’Brien,” Sheffield says softly, leaning back so he can look up at him. His face is soft with sleep, and his dark lashes flutter against his cheeks. He blinks slowly, and Heat thinks his eyes are beautiful. 

“Yeah?” Heat says.

“I am very angry with you,” Sheffield says, his voice soft. 

Heat feels anxiety flicker in his stomach, but it disappears with the next words, that come out very slowly and with great deliberation. 

“But I trust you.”

Heat’s heart skips a beat then pounds, and he knows Sheffield can feel it reverberate in his chest. The sensation of wanting to cry comes rushing back, and he doesn’t know why.

“There aren’t many people I feel this way about. In fact, you may be the only person I would let sleep next to me.” Sheffield presses his cheek back to Heat’s warm chest. “The only person I trust at all.”

One tiny sob finds its way through and Heat can’t even bother trying to cover it up with a cough. He feels embarrassment and shame and thirty other emotions he can’t put a name to. Sheffield reaches a small arm around his back to rub soothing circles into his shirt. “Please don’t cry,” he says. 

Heat nods but can’t choke back another sob that wracks his whole body. Sheffield reaches up to brush the trail of tears from his face. 

“Come on. You can cry later.” With a tired smile, Sheffield gives him a gentle pat. Heat nods again and manages to snort back his tears. When they’ve both calmed down, Sheffield murmurs, “Pull up the blanket.”

Heat does, and is overwhelmed by how strong Sheffield’s scent is on it. Another wave of emotion hits him. Something about it makes him want to cry again. He doesn’t notice the few silent tears rolling down his cheek, but Sheffield does. The catches their glint from the light spilling in from the window. He lets them fall, and dry on their own. 

Tears fall noiselessly into Sheffield’s hair until he falls asleep with the young man in his arms.


	15. 15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[warning for gore, broken bones]_

He has a nightmare, and then a dream.

In the nightmare, he’s being torn apart again, by the same hulking monster as the first time. It goes through the same gestures; picking him up, biting off his legs, consuming his flesh. Savouring him. He watches his intestines get caught in its teeth again. But this time he’s enveloped by a strange sense of calm. The nightmare feels fuzzy, not crystal clear with detail like it was before. He finds it difficult to care. The monster bites a huge jaw full of his ribcage off, swallowing his heart and lungs and one of his arms. A smile tugs at his lips.

The nightmare fades as if washed away like thin diluted paint on a canvas, and after a period where he can’t recall anything, a different dream starts, where he is looking at himself through Sheffield’s eyes. He is Sheffield, and he is standing before his own body and talking about nothing in particular. They walk through the fuzzy dorm hallway and go to class and take notes; suddenly they’re outside and he asks Heat – himself – if he believes in God. Heat mutters something, but he can’t understand. 

It fades after that, and a stretch of uninterrupted sleep comes over him.

He blinks as he comes to. In his arms, Sheffield is still asleep, eyes fluttered shut and lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with every soft breath. Heat wants to close his eyes again and drift back off into sleep back with him. But anxiety stirs in his gut as he remembers the events of the night before. He recalls Sheffield mentioning not having to wake up early and cringes with guilt. He glances over his shoulder at the pad of sticky notes on the bedside table. Half of him wants to run, to get away, to scribble out a ten page apology and not see Sheffield again until he’s read it and confronted him about it; but the other half wants to melt there in bed with the boy in his arms and forget that anything ever happened.

The words of his apology swim gracefully in his head but he knows the second he opens his mouth they’ll fall apart, like fucking alphabet spaghetti. If he could only write them down, he might have a chance at sounding halfway intelligible.

He sinks back into the pillow with a sigh.

A loud long knock at the door jolts him upright. Sheffield’s brow furrows in his sleep but he doesn’t stir. Heat bites his lip as he manoeuvres out of the tangle of limbs, cursing whoever is at the door. 

Matt is standing there.

“What?” Heat whispers loudly.

Matt chuckles. “What’s up, bro? Did you just wake up? Oh, shit, I didn't wake you up, did I?”

Heat’s face softens. He lets the door open a bit wider. “Yeah, you did,” he mutters. “It’s okay.”

“Oh, dude, my bad,” Matt says sympathetically. “Just letting you know about the floor meeting. It’s starting in like, 15 minutes.”

“Shit,” Heat groans, smacking a hand to his forehead. “...I said I’d go to that, didn’t I?”

Suddenly Matt isn’t listening. He leans in, trying to peer past Heat's head. “Yo, bro, you got a girl in there?” 

“What?” Heat quickly tries to narrow the space between the door and the frame. Anxiety flares in his stomach. “No!”

“Ohh, I get it, that’s why you look so tousled!” Matt says, pointing to Heat’s hair. Heat immediately flattens it down. “No wonder you slept in so late! Gotta give you props, bro.”

“I didn’t – wait, what time is it?”

“Bro, it’s like 1pm,” Matt says, still sounding amused. “You probably needed all that sleep to get back your energy from last night.”

“ _I didn’t –_ “

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend for my sake,” Matt says, nudging him and turning to leave before Heat can get a word in edgewise. “Alright, bro, I’ll catch you at the meeting! Don’t be late trying to sneak another one in, alright?”

He runs off, leaving Heat with his mouth gaping open. A moment later he shuts the door. 

“Fuck," he mutters.

Trudging back inside, he casts his gaze on Sheffield’s sleeping body. The commotion in the hall hasn’t woken him up, to Heat’s surprise. His brow furrows in thought. There's nothing in the world he wants more than to crawl back into bed, but a promise was a promise. If the floor meeting only took half an hour, he could go to it and come back and lay back down before Sheffield even knew he was gone. He changes as quietly as he can, pauses, and grabs the sticky note pad before he runs out the door.

Sheffield rolls over in his sleep.


	16. 16.

The bright glare of the fluorescent lights in the floor lounge makes Heat want to go back to bed. It doesn’t feel like 1:30 in the afternoon.

He tunes out as his floor supervisor, Brendan – the one who originally told him Serph would be staying with him – reads from a clipboard. Heat knows nobody cares about the administrative stuff. He wonders if anyone is actually paying attention. Leaning back into the couch, he casts a glance around the room. Half of the people in the room he doesn’t even recognize; Kim sits a few cushions away but doesn’t seem to notice him; Matt is on the other side of the room on his phone. Heat doesn’t even remember why he thought coming to this would be a good idea.

Brendan finishes his monotonous reading and tosses the clipboard aside. “Well, anyway. Enough of that crap.”

“Finally,” Kim replies. “I was this close to leaving.”

“You know I have to go through all that first,” Brendan says sympathetically. “Anyway.” He swivels in his chair, turning to Matt. “You got a room party this week, I hear?”

“How the fuck did you know? I’ve barely told like, three people!” Matt exclaims.

“Nothing gets past me,” Brendan says smugly. “Try not to get too drunk, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. You guys are all invited, by the way,” Matt says, leaning back in his chair. 

Most of the room expresses excitement while Heat slumps back in the couch, wishing he were back at his room. As everyone starts talking amongst themselves, Kim edges closer to him and says, “Hey, Heat.”

“Hey.” He smiles a little.

“How’d things go with…” She trails off, gesturing with her hand, not wanting to say his name.

“Oh, uh. Everything was okay.” His stomach sinks as he recalls what happened with the pamphlet. He thinks about what happened the night before and realizes he’d rather not tell anybody about that. “Good, mostly.”

“Good,” Kim says, nodding. “Did you end up reading the pamphlet on transness and gender identity?”

Heat winces slightly. “I didn’t get a chance, no.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she says, touching his arm lightly when she sees the pained look on his face. “There’s lots of other resources you can look through if you still want more information. Anyway,” she adds, lowering her voice. “I’m sure you can always just talk to him about it.”

Heat nods. “He’s not really that kind person,” he says. “I don’t think it’s really a big deal to him unless someone else makes it one.”

Kim nods. “Fair enough.”

Matt suddenly exclaims over the commotion. “Well, at least I didn’t get laid last night like Heat did!” 

Heat feels the colour drain from his face as everybody in the room turns to look at him.

“Oh my god, with who?” A girl he barely recognizes from his floor asks.

“No way, O’Brien?” He doesn’t know that guy either.

“Who, dude, is it someone from our floor?” Brendan chimes in.

“Cut it out, guys, he doesn’t wanna talk about it,” Kim tries to add playfully but Heat’s scowl ruins the effect. Matt doesn’t seem to notice his suddenly foul mood.

“Yo, I totally saw a chick in Heat’s bed when I went to remind him of the floor meeting,” Matt goes on as Heat feels his hands curl into trembling fists. “He got all defensive so there’s no way he didn’t get laid.”

“Doesn’t that other guy live in O’Brien’s dorm? Where was he?” a girl asks.

“I dunno, he must have took a hike after he told him he was bring home a girl!” The pit of tar bubbling in Heat’s stomach threatens to explode the longer Matt keeps talking.

“Matt – “ Kim starts, but Heat interrupts, exploding out of his seat and storming out of the lounge, slamming the door.

Trudging down the hall on the way back to his room, he hears rapid footsteps catching up with him and recognizes Kim’s voice as she calls out, “Heat, wait!” He stops in his tracks, trying to soften the scowl on his face as she approaches him. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says. “He had no right to make a big fuss about that.”

“About what?” Heat asks, more directed towards Matt than to her. “There wasn’t anything! We weren’t doing anything!”

He feels the anger boiling in his chest and he continues, “We were just laying there. Nothing was happening. Fuck, it wasn’t even my bed, it was his – “

“His?” Kim asks, a look of confusion suddenly spread across her face. “I thought – “

“Matt saw Serph in his own bed,” Heat hisses, lowering his voice. 

“What?”

“He saw Serph in his own fucking bed and thought he was a girl I picked up and slept with the night before,” Heat snaps. “He made the whole damn thing up in his stupid head. I mean, fuck, we slept together but not like that. Just next to each other.”

“Did he see you guys sleeping together?” Kim asks.

“No, there was no way he could have, I had to get up to open the door,” Heat says, shaking his head. “He just… assumed that I had sex with whoever was in the bed, I guess. Since I came to the door with bedhead. I don’t know.” He chuckles humourlessly. “It’s funny that I slept with him in the end, anyway, right?”

Kim watches Heat bang his head against the wall in frustration. A door down the hall opens slightly. 

“I’ve been fucking up with him since last night and I don't want this getting around. Any of it. Because all of it is wrong.” He turns suddenly to face her. “Do you know how badly I wanted to punch him out when he kept calling Serph a girl? I mean, it’s not like he knows about that but fucking Christ I could have beaten the shit out of him right then and there.”

“Excuse me,” a small but stern voice says from behind him and Heat feels his stomach flip. Feeling sick with dread, he turns around.

“Serph,” Heat breathes. Sheffield is standing half dressed, leaning against the doorframe, with his binder thrown on. Heat can’t read the expression on his face and that’s the part that scares him the most.

Sheffield narrows his eyes, and flits his gaze to look at Kim. The colour drains from Heat’s face.

“Serph, hang on – “

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Sheffield asks her stiffly. Kim looks surprised.

“Me?”

He doesn’t elaborate, only goes back to coldly gazing at Heat. “I’m going to assume I walked out at the precise moment of a horrible miscommunication. So I’m going to give you the opportunity to explain yourself.” The words drip from his teeth like icy venom.

“Thanks,” Heat grumbles. 

“Goodbye,” Sheffield says coldly to Kim before turning and heading back inside the room, beckoning Heat to follow. Heat gives Kim a vague nod goodbye before following him and closing the door.

The room is still dark. For a moment Heat doesn't see him anywhere until he sees the glint of his eyes in the pitch black bathroom.

“Serph?”

“Come in. Turn the light on.”

Flicking them on, he sees Sheffield sitting on the edge of the counter, legs dangling over. They're not long enough to touch the floor. “Why weren’t you there when I woke up this morning?” he asks, voice devoid of emotion.

Heat's gaze fall to the floor. “I wanted to be. I didn’t want to leave. But I promised someone I would go to the stupid floor meeting. I was going to go and come back before you woke up.” He looks up longingly. “I swear I didn’t leave because I wanted to.”

Sheffield blinks but doesn’t betray any emotion. “What were you talking about in the hallway?”

The guilty expression on Heat’s face twists into controlled anger. “Matt. One of the guys on our floor. He came to remind me about the meeting and saw you through the opened door and – “ He cuts himself off.

“You can say it,” Sheffield says flatly. 

“He… thought you were a girl. But not because he recognized you as _you_. He thought you were some random girl I picked up. I swear he didn’t recognize you. He even said, during the meeting, that he thought you must have fucked off for the night so I could – “

As he speaks, Sheffield’s eyes widen and his crossed arms fall to his side. “He said that?”

Heat nods.

Sheffield lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He opens his eyes after a moment of silent thought, and Heat thinks he seems more down to earth now than before. 

“No harm, no foul,” Sheffield mutters, although clearly still agitated about the situation. Heat’s shoulders slump slightly in relief. “The only one who gets shafted here is you.”

“What do you mean?”

A sinister grin spreads on Sheffield’s lips. “Now everybody thinks you’re straight.”

“Wh – oh.”

He leans back on the counter. “And now I’m the cool roommate who evacuates the dorm so his roommate can have a one night stand.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Heat says. Sheffield laughs at him, and the scowl on Heat’s face melts away.

A cold edge flickers back across Sheffield’s eyes as he asks, “The girl. She’s the one who knows, doesn’t she?’

“Yeah,” Heat replies, hanging his head. Sheffield lets out a long exhale.

After a moment, Heat mumbles, “Serph.” A pair of dark eyes glance up at him. “How are your wounds?” he asks quietly. 

“Sore, but otherwise I haven’t removed the bandaging to check,” Sheffield states. “You did a sufficient job at patching me up, if I recall. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Heat’s brow furrows in concern. “Make sure not to pick at any of them. If you disturb the wound too much it could scar.”

A sassy grin sprawls over Sheffield’s face and he tilts his head in appreciation. “I know, doctor O’Brien.” Heat’s face goes red. Sheffield hops off the counter, wincing slightly. “I was going to shower but I don’t want water getting under the bandages,” Sheffield says mostly to himself with a sigh. “I was going to spend the afternoon with you in bed too, but I suppose that’s out of the picture now.”

“W-what? Why? I can – we could – “

“I’m already out of bed, half dressed and it’s almost three in the afternoon,” Sheffield states. “There’s no way I can lay back in bed.”

Heat closes his gaping mouth, flustered, but doesn’t say anything. A horrible nagging in the back of his mind screams about how he let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Sheffield strolls back into the bedroom and picks up his blood stained sweater with disdain. “I might as well do laundry.”

Standing there, fumbling for words but unable to string the right ones together, Heat mumbles, “Okay.”

As Sheffield picks up other clothes and tosses them in the laundry basket, he turns over his shoulder and says, “I am still upset with you, by the way.”

“I… I know,” Heat says. “I’m – I’m going to apologize properly. When you get back.”

Sheffield lets out a gentle laugh. His eyes glitter. “Who says I’ll accept it?” Heat shuffles his feet, stammers, but Sheffield says, “We’ll see.”


	17. 17.

When he sits down to organize his thoughts, every eloquent sentence he thought of before refuses to come out. He stares at the paper on the desk, brows furrowed in frustration. He presses the pen tip to the paper and scribbles out his name, running to the next line and stopping in his tracks again. Groaning, he leans back in the chair and throws the pen to the floor.

“Fuck.”

He swivels around and stares at Sheffield’s side of the room. The bed is nicely made without a single wrinkle. His things are organized on his desk and nothing he owns is out of place. Heat wonders how someone so well put together could have broken down so badly the night before. The memory makes his chest tighten uncomfortably. The flash of images in his mind - of Sheffield huddled out in the cold half naked, dirt underneath his bare feet, covered in blood from self inflicted injuries - makes his stomach churn in anguish.

He realizes something. 

_He doesn’t understand._

A sense of clarity washes over him, like removing a grimy film, with the revelation that he will never experience what Sheffield does. 

He doesn’t let himself think about the words anymore. He swivels back and presses the pen to the paper again and the ink flows this time. 

-

On the way to the laundry room, the hairs on the back of Sheffield’s neck raise. He’s tense, wary. As if he’s being watched. 

The sensation of being looked at is one he’s accustomed to. People are attracted to him, he knows that already; his androgyny draws in people of all genders, and his cool aura and silver tongue cement their intrigue.

But this is different. Their eyes feel like pinpricks stabbing into his back, not threatening but just enough to be uncomfortable. His skin crawls.

He’s not sure if he’s imagining things or not.

The laundry room is dark and empty. He flicks the lights on and slides the basket on the first machine. The feeling hasn’t gone away. It’s burning into the back of his head. He turns around. 

“Yes?” he asks.

Kim is standing by the island in the middle of the room. Instantly the blood in Sheffield’s veins runs cold. He forces himself to keep a neutral expression.

“Serph,” she begins, and Sheffield wants to grimace at the ugly way it sounds slipping off her tongue, “I’m sorry about what you heard in the hall.”

“What is there to be sorry about?” he asks, tone light, as he beings stuffing clothes away in the washing machine.

“The fact that you heard about someone misgendering you, even in a weird accidental sort of way.”

“It’s fine,” Sheffield says. He shoves the bloodied sweater into the machine. “I don’t hear too many people use that word.”

“Well, I mean,” Kim says, “you must be pretty familiar with it, huh?’

He puts his clothes down and turns around, his back against the machine’s cold edge. It’s harder and harder to keep the neutrality in his voice. He crushes his rage down. “What makes you say that?”

“Serph,” she starts again. “I know. Heat – “

“He told you,” Sheffield all but spits.

“No. He didn’t, actually.”

Some of the tension in his face relaxes. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“I figured it out,” she says, shaking her head. “He came to the pride room and was confused about the whole thing. And by that I mean he was confused about being gay.”

The claw-like grip he’s been holding onto the edge of the machine with loosens. “What else?” he asks.

Kim smirks a little. “You’re not surprised that he’s gay?”

Sheffield flashes her one too in response. “O’Brien is an open book. He’s the easiest person to read that I’ve ever met.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Kim says. She leans against the island. “You shouldn't be angry with him. All he said to me was that he was interested in a guy that wasn’t like him. That’s all. I figured out the rest myself.”

“And what exactly made you so sure that’s what he meant?” Sheffield asks. Scathing remarks claw at his throat, wanting so badly to spew out of his mouth, but he holds them in check.

“I’m not sure.” Sheffield hears the hesitation in her tone and his fingers curl like claws against the cold metal. “Something about the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure about which words to use to describe it. He was obviously confused, and kind of ignorant, but he was trying his hardest not to be offensive, even when you weren’t there.”

“You keep speaking to me as if you know for sure what’s going on with my body,” Sheffield says coldly. 

Kim sighs. “Alright. I get it. Stealth. I can respect that.”

Sheffield’s eyes narrow as a burning rage consumes his chest. The sooner she finishes speaking to him and leaves, the sooner he can go back to not wanting to maul anybody. 

“If it is true,” she says, turning around but looking back at him. “I would never tell anyone. I just wanted you to know that Heat didn’t either.”

She doesn’t wait for a response she knows isn’t going to come. After the door closes behind her, Sheffield stays leaned against the machine, breathing slowly. The tension always leaves his body slower than it comes. Shutting his eyes gives him a quick but shallow escape from reality. When he opens them, everything is the same. Nothing ever changes. He is always ever the same.


	18. 18.

The click of the key card in the door makes Heat’s heart race, and he slaps his hands out to pretend he’s rearranging something on his desk, even though he knows its ridiculous. Sheffield comes in and drops the basket of clean clothes inside the closet. When he doesn't start immediately putting them away and instead slumps down on the edge of his bed, Heat’s brow furrows in concern. 

“Hey,” he offers, swivelling around. 

“Hey.”

Hesitantly, Heat gets up from his chair and begins hanging Sheffield’s laundry on his side of the closet. 

“I was going to do that in a second,” Sheffield mutters, casting him a glance.

“Don’t worry about it.” He picks up the beige sweater from the other night and grimaces inwardly at the bloodstains that didn’t rinse all the way out. 

“I met Kim in the laundry room,” Sheffield says. Heat perks up.

“Oh? What did she say?”

“She told me what happened. You didn’t out me quite as directly as I assumed you had.” Sheffield sighs. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions, although I’m still irritated about the whole situation.”

“Oh, um, about that,” Heat says, shoving the last of the shirts onto the hanger. He grabs the paper from his desk and offers it to Sheffield with a sheepish expression. “I’m no good at talking, and I couldn’t get my thoughts into words out loud. So I wrote this instead. I hope that’s okay.”

Taking the paper, Sheffield’s eyes glance over the block of text. “You wrote all this?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Heat grunts.

“Your handwriting is quite nice,” Sheffield remarks, and Heat feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

_Dear Serph_ – the first ‘dear’ has been crossed out, then written again – _At first I didn’t understand, but I finally figured out why you were so angry with me last night. I don’t understand what it feels like to be like you. I don’t think I ever will. But that’s why you were mad, right? Because you trusted me to know about it and I let it slip to somebody else that you didn’t even know. She didn’t earn the right, through your trust, to know. And for that I’m truly sorry. If there’s anything I can do at all to make it up to you, tell me. Your_ – a word has been scratched out, and the next one is written with a shaky hand – _friendship means a lot to me._ Another word scribbled out. _– Heat_

Sheffield drapes the paper on the bed and steps over to where Heat is standing, almost trembling, and touches his arm.

“Thank you,” Sheffield says, looking up at him. “I accept your apology.”

Heat's broad shoulders fall with relief and he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m sorry, I really am – “

“That’s enough." He rapidly pats Heat's chest a few times. "Don’t grovel, it doesn’t suit you.” Sheffield smiles.

Heat opens his mouth to say something but closes it and nods.


	19. 19.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay so. apparently a few people are still reading this (and enjoy it???) so I decided to bite the bullet and upload the rest of it. I should say a couple things though since they've been buggin me.
> 
> 1\. The rest of this work is _completely unedited_ apart from taking out writing notes, some of which I might have skimmed. I don't have the time to rework this draft so it's going up in all its blazing, unedited, shitty glory.  
>  2\. This work is old. It's old as balls. I wrote it during NaNoWriMo '14 so it's gonna be 3 years old this November. I've evolved as a writer since I began this to actually write full-time, so a lot of the content is not. Great. 
> 
> So with that said, here's the rest of this monstrosity. Thanks to everyone who commented or left kudos, it really does mean a lot to me ;_;

Fall trudges on and daylight fades earlier every day and by five o’clock it’s pitch black outside. The cold air turns to freezing, and the golden and crimson leaves stop falling and are slowly replaced by light flurries. The weather and lack of daylight bothers Heat more than it does Sheffield. He gets tired easily, and on cold days he just wants to sit at home and sleep.

“You’ll be late for class,” Sheffield scolds him one morning as he lays face down in his pillow, dressed in a loose shirt and sweatpants he’s been wearing for three days.

“I don’t want to go,” Heat complains, muffled.

“Your exam is coming up.”

“How do you know?” Heat asks, not even surprised anymore when Sheffield knows strange pieces of information about his life. He ignores the question.

“Go to class.”

“It’s too cold.”

Sheffield makes an irritated noise in his mouth but leaves him alone as he prepares his own things for class.

“Serph,” Heat calls, still muffled through his pillow.

“Yes, O’Brien.”

“What are you doing for winter break?”

Sheffield stops for a moment, mid-movement, and asks, “Why?”

Heat doesn't respond immediately. He pushes himself off the bed and wipes the drool from his mouth on the back of his forearm. “Do you – uh – would you want to come over? To visit?”

Turning around with a brow playfully raised, Sheffield asks, “To your home?”

Heat smiles slightly, sitting back on his knees. “Yeah. I mean, you know. Just if you’re not doing anything. If you are, don’t worry about it.”

Sheffield finishes putting his books away in his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know,” he says with a smile back. “Go to class,” he adds, dropping a pair of jeans on top of him.

“Ugh. Fine.”

-

The lecture ends as Heat scribbles down the last of his notes and he curses under his breath as the rest of the class seems to get to the door before him. He trudges out last, pushing past the heavy doors. He almost jumps as someone touches his arm from behind him. He rounds on them, hair flying and smacking himself in the face.

“Fucking – “

Sheffield starts laughing at him and instantly all the irritation melts away into embarrassment.

“Hey, Serph,” Heat says, running a hand back through his hair.

“It’s gotten so long, hasn’t it?” Sheffield asks. He lifts a hand, and for a moment Heat’s heart thumps with the thought of him reaching up to touch his hair, but instead it comes to rest thoughtfully at his chin. “And I thought it was long when I first met you.”

“Oh, trust me,” Heat mutters, “I look like shit with short hair. You don’t even want to see pictures.”

“Please,” Sheffield says. “You have a handsome face. You would look fine with anyway.”

Heat’s face burns and he walks away to escape his embarrassment*. Sheffield patters up next to him to catch up with his long strides.

“I thought about it and my answer is yes,” Sheffield says.

“Huh? Oh – really?” Heat exclaims.

Sheffield nods.

“Did you call your parents and ask or anything?” Heat says.

“Oh, no. I don’t need their permission,” Sheffield says, waving it off. “I decided myself. I can come home with you as soon as I finish my last exam.”

“Right away? For the whole break?” Heat’s eyes widen.

“Sure. Why not? As long as it’s fine with you, I have nothing better to do than spend it with you.”

Heat’s heart skips a beat in excitement, even though he knows Sheffield probably didn’t mean it in that way.

“Okay! Great,” Heat says with a grin.

-

Sheffield packs lightly, lighter than Heat expects to be staying over for so long. He neatly folds his clothes and arranges his laptop and accessories in the back of his bag. When the bag is done, he slings his rabbit fur scarf over his neck and slips on a light coat, waiting by the door.

“Can you believe the dorm actually closes for the break? That’s so fucked up. You’d think they’d keep it open for the people who don’t want to go home,” Heat says, stuffing clothes haphazardly into his bag.

“They don’t want to be responsible for keeping the cafeteria open, or keeping the rooms clean, I guess,” Sheffield says.

Heat lifts the bag with a grunt of effort, and Sheffield chuckles.

“Are you planning on ever returning here?” he asks playfully.

“I don’t want anyone, like, breaking in to steal our stuff while we’re not here,” Heat grumbles, fussing with the zipper as the pressure of everything inside threatens to bust out.

“What are people going to steal from you?” Sheffield says, amused. “Your clothes? You put outfits I’ve never even seen you wear in there.”

“Some of them are really nice and I haven’t gotten a chance to wear them,” Heat grumbles. “But I still like knowing I have them with me.”

Sheffield chuckles. “Okay, O’Brien.” He opens the door to the hallway, key card ready in hand. Heat finally gets his bag under control and hauls the strap over his shoulder. Sheffield’s eyes drift to the swell of his muscles under his t-shirt sleeves.

“You’re going to get cold without a jacket,” Sheffield remarks as Heat lugs the bag out of the room, his eyes still lingering on his arms. Heat doesn’t notice, too busy trying rummaging in his pocket trying to find their bus tickets.

“I’ll be fine,” Heat grunts. “It’s just a short walk to the pick up place on campus.”

“If you say so,” Sheffield says, locking the door.

“Yo, O’Brien, you still here?” a voice calls from down the hall, and Heat can’t stop himself from making a face.

\--

Snow falls lightly outside the dorm. A calm, heavy silence sits over the mostly deserted campus. Sheffield closes his eyes, listening to the low howl of the wind, feeling the flurries brushing across his face. Heat comes out of the door and instantly curses at the cold.

“Fuck,” he says, teeth already starting to chatter. “This is way colder than I thought it’d be.”

Sheffield smirks. “I told you.” He pulls the fur scarf off his neck and tosses it around Heat’s shoulders. He leans up and ties it in a loose knot. “There. Hopefully you won’t freeze on the way to the bus stop.”

“Thanks,” Heat grunts. Sheffield smiles and turns for the bus stop, and Heat is thankful he can’t see the blush spreading quickly across his face. Heat shudders. The fur scarf is warm and smells overwhelmingly of Sheffield. He forces himself not to fall into a daze sniffing it like some kind of freak. He joins Sheffield at the waiting zone. 

There’s a few people at the bus stop, most of them stragglers with late exams. Heat sets his bag down with a grunt and rubs his hands on the bare skin of his arms, trying to warm himself through friction.

“This was a shitty idea,” Heat grumbles.

“You’ll be fine for a minute longer. Look, the bus is already here.”

A large coach style bus pulls up, engine rumbling and spewing exhaust. A man in a hat jumps off to help load the student’s luggage into the lower compartment. Heat tosses his bag inside with a thud and boards the bus, slumping down in a seat in the middle section. Sheffield saunters through the bus aisle casually and takes the seat next to him.

“I can’t believe you stole the window seat from me,” Sheffield mumbles.

“Oh.” Heat blinks. “Do you want it?”

“Yes, please.”

Heat stands, awkwardly large in the tight seats, and Sheffield slinks over him to claim the window seat. Sheffield nestles into the corner between the seat cushion and the window, like a baby bird. Heat’s mind is screaming about how cute Sheffield is, but he forces the thought from his mind.

“How long is the ride to your home?” Sheffield asks, gazing out the window.

“Two hours, I think. Give or take. I usually just sleep so it’s not a big deal to me,” Heat admits.

“I can never sleep on these things,” Sheffield says, now rummaging through his bag and pulling out a thick book. He flips it open to a bookmarked page, fingers curling around the top.

A couple seats fill out sparsely, with most people sitting at the front or the back. Someone sits in the seat before them. The bus rumbles loudly and begins moving.

“Are you reading a textbook?” Heat mumbles. He recognizes the clinical aesthetic and glossy hardcover.

“Yeah. I didn't have a chance to finish it before the exam.” Sheffield flips the page over.

“Didn’t you have to read it anyway?” Heat says through a yawn.

Sheffield gives a smug one-note chuckle. “Yes. I obviously read all those sections. I’m just finishing the rest of it.”

“Why?” Heat glances over at the page and balks at the dense text and not a single graphic. “It looks dry as hell.”

“It is,” Sheffield says calmly, as if speaking to a child who isn't quite grasping a concept, “But I know most of the ideas in this already.”

“Huh? Then why’re you reading it?”

A small wry smile spreads on Sheffield’s lips. “Because I’ve never read this particular author’s perspective. Isn’t it neat to see how different people see the same material? Humans are so interesting.”

Heat blinks and slumps down in his seat. “I guess.”

Sheffield keeps glancing at him from the corner of his eye, as if expecting another comment, but when he doesn’t get one he lets his eyes fall back to the page.

Once the bus hits the freeway, Heat quickly dozes off. His head slumps onto his shoulder and his mouth hangs open just enough for a tiny snore to escape. Sheffield ploughs throw the textbook, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. The landscape shifts from concrete and sod to grassy hills and sparse trees that explodes into thick forest. Gray mountains loom in the distance, dull with far off snow and fog.

Sheffield glances up as the trees flicker past, a blur of green and white. Flurries whirled and battered at the windows, and the forest floor was already blanketed with a layer of snow.

He glances at Heat from the corner of his eye. He’s only wearing a t-shirt and Sheffield’s fur scarf, but somehow his body still radiates warmth. Shaking his head, Sheffield slips out of his coat

Sheffield leans back in the seat and closes his book. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the warmth of Heat’s thick arm against his. Letting himself indulge in the feeling, he shifts his body to be closer. He leans his head gently on Heat’s shoulder. Heat doesn’t stir.

He looks at their arms, side by side on the center seat console, and smiles curiously. Heat’s arm is easily twice as thick as his, and covered in golden blonde hairs. His skin is almost bronze next to Sheffield’s ghostly pale wrist. He gazes at O’Brien’s large hand, loosely draped over the console. The dry winter air has taken a toll on his skin, Sheffield notes, as cracks have begun to surface on the back of his hand. He makes a note to remedy that when he’s awake.

After a pause, Sheffield experimentally grazes his small finger over the back of Heat’s hand. There is no response. Sheffield smirks to himself, removes his finger, and looks back out the window.

The bus rumbles to a stop at a run down station. Sheffield leans into Heat’s ear and shakes his arm gently.

“O’Brien.”

He rouses with a mumble, his one eye uncovered by hair bleary with sleep. “Where are we?”

“We're here,” Sheffield says.

Heat cranes his neck to look out the window and then yawns. “Already?”

“Yes,” Sheffield says gently, “You slept like a baby the entire time.” He pinches Heat’s cheek playfully before gathering his book and bag.

Heat stands up, stretching his arms upwards and letting out a grunt when his hands hit the overhead console. Sheffield waits with one leg crossed over the other in his seat as Heat struggles with retrieving his luggage. The girl in the seat in front of them looks over her shoulder with a friendly smile. Sheffield returns it.

She hesitates before saying, “I hope this isn’t rude, but you guys are really cute.”

“Not at all,” Sheffield replies warmly. “Thank you.”

She glances at Heat also and says, “I hope that when I finally find someone I’ll be as happy as you guys are.”

Heat stumbles and drops his luggage on the isle floor.

“Oh, we’re not dating,” Sheffield says, amused, as Heat tries to compose himself. “But I can understand why you thought we were.”

“Oh!” The girl exclaims, putting her hand to her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sheffield reassures her. He adds in a lower voice while Heat is still distracted, “Maybe if he finally gets the courage to ask me.”

The girl’s eyes widen and she giggles, waving goodbye to both of them before she hops off the bus.

“I can’t believe – why – “ Heat is throwing a tantrum in the aisle.

“Your phone,” Sheffield says, pointing to it on the floor.

“Oh, fuck – “

“Come on. We’re going to be the last ones off the bus,” Sheffield says and walks off.

When Heat finally gathers his things and hurries outside, his face is still red. Sheffield offers a friendly wave goodbye to the girl across the station as she gets in her pickup vehicle. A grin is spread across her face as she waves back.

“I can't believe that happened,” Heat mutters, setting his luggage down and surveying the parking lot. “I was so damn embarrassed.”

“Why?” Sheffield chuckles. “We were acting pretty close the whole time.”

“What?” Heat’s face is red. “We were?”

“You were leaning on my arm the whole time,” Sheffield says. It was so fun to watch him squirm. “You didn’t notice?”

“No,” Heat mutters, looking mortified. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

A worn-looking red minivan pulls up into the parking lot.

“Oh, they’re here. Come on,” Heat exclaims. He hauls his luggage over to the car and hikes the trunk open. “Serph, you want your stuff in the back too?”

“Yes, please.” He strides over, rolling the backpack off his shoulder and into the trunk. Heat slides into the passenger seat and waves Sheffield over. The inside of the car smells like old air freshener and lingering cigarette smoke. Sheffield is careful not to put his hands on the nylon car seat fabric, as the texture makes his palms sweat.

An older man with mousy brown hair turns around in the driver’s seat.

“Hello, there,” he says. His face is lined with wrinkles and fatigue, but Sheffield can sense the kindness in his eyes.

“Hello.” He smiles back and softens his expression.

“Serph, is it?” the man asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Yes.”

-

The drive home is scenic, with long one way roads that wind up the mountainside, the old worn down pavement flanked by woodland. The blanket of snow on the ground is thicker than in the city.

At one point Sheffield sees a deer through the undergrowth, its black eyes like mirrors staring up at him. It's a massive animal with a barrelled chest and a soft face, standing proudly in the midst of the trees. At first Sheffield registers it as a doe, but then he notices the one magnificent antler on its head. The car rushes past and the deer disappears, leaving it only as a lingering memory in his mind.

Heat and his father save their catching up for when they reach home, and the car ride is mostly silent. Finally the car turns onto a short uphill road, past the red flag of the mailbox, leading up to a home at the end of the driveway. The front lawn is blanketed in white, and the pine trees surrounding the property sag with the weight of ice and snow. Warm smoke billows out from the chimney, filling the air with the comforting scent of burning firewood. Sheffield steps out of the car and drags in a deep breath. The chill of the cold hits him instantly, making him shudder.

Sheffield knew rural areas reached lower temperatures, but he’d never been this far from the city before. His breath fogged out in front of him. The peaceful silence of the woods was something almost unreal.

Heat hops out of the car and rushes to get their things out of the trunk, already shivering. His teeth chatter as he hauls his huge luggage out and over his shoulder, and says, “Here, catch,” to Sheffield as he tosses him his bag.

Inside Sheffield is overwhelmed by the scent of food drifting from the kitchen, candles lit in the hallway, and a scent that smells familiar to Heat’s. Everything is much cozier than Sheffield was expecting. The rooms are relatively small, but comfortable enough for four people.

He lingers behind Heat in the hallway as he tracks his snow covered luggage inside and kicks off his boots.

“Mom?” he yells.

A blonde head pops out of a doorway. Sheffield assumes it’s the kitchen. “Oh, Heat!”

A woman in her fifties with hair a bit longer than Heat’s scampers out into the hallway, throwing her arms around him with oven mitts still on her hands.

“Hey, mom,” Heat mumbles, although Sheffield can hear the downplayed happiness in his voice.

“Oh, it’s so good to finally see you again,” Mrs. O’Brien says, letting go of him. “And who is this? The friend you invited over?”

“Yeah,” Heat says with a soft smile. “This is Serph.”

“Serph, nice to meet you,” she says, reaching out to shake his hand. He returns the gesture.

“Heat, why don’t you take your kids’ things upstairs?” Mrs. O’Brien said.

“Okay, mom,” Heat grunted, hauling the luggage towards the stairs.

She takes both of Serph’s hands in her own fondly and lowers her voice. A smile is etched into her soft wrinkled face. “I haven’t seen my boy this happy in a long time. I’m glad he’s made at least one good friend. That boy has never been too good being social, I was so worried he’d be alone.”

Sheffield doesn’t know what to say. He gazes back at Mrs. O’Brien, hyperaware of her hands on his. He nods.

“It’s my pleasure,” Sheffield said with a shy smile.

“Why don’t you go freshen up, dear?” Mrs. O’Brien said, waving him off. “Heat will be upstairs, oh and don’t worry about the creaky step, it’s just loud.”

Sheffield steps across the old hardwood floor to the narrow staircase pressed tightly to the wall. The worn beige carpet running up the middle of the staircase tickles Sheffield’s feet through his socks.

The fuzzy scent of holiday potpourri wafts around the upstairs hallway. The narrow walls painted a homey shade of cream are lined with picture frames. Family photos of Heat, of his mother and father, and a few with what he assumes are distant relatives. Sheffield feels strange, seeing pictures of high-school aged Heat, with his messy hair and acne and a face that he hadn’t quite grown into yet.

A single black frame set aside on a drawer catches Sheffield’s eye. A grinning pre-teen Heat had his arms around a younger girl’s shoulder. Brown hair, like Heat’s father, tumbled down to her shoulders, and black bags sagged under her sunken eyes. A tired, but genuine smile is etched across her face.

Sheffield’s brows furrow the longer he looks at the photo. Something wells up inside him, a concoction of emotions he can’t pinpoint.

Heat pokes his head out of the bedroom. “Serph, you coming?” 

“Yeah,” Sheffield says. He shakes the feeling off and follows Heat into his room.

The room smells like Heat with a light layer of dust. A double bed with a dark blue comforter is tucked in the corner of the room next to a rustic wooden nightstand. A desk stands on the other side of the room, opposite, and a bookshelf stacked haphazardly with books stands next to it.

Heat slumps down onto the bed with a deep exhale. He throws his forearm over his eyes. “I’m so tired,” he groans. “Now that I’m laying down I don’t ever want to get up.”

“We're going to miss dinner if you don’t get up,” Sheffield says. He lays his bag on the floor. “Would your parents mind if I went down dressed like this?”

“Huh? Why would they? You look fine,” Heat says, uncovering one eye.

“Just wondering,” Sheffield replies with a shrug. He sits down next to Heat on the bed.

“I don’t want your parents thinking I’m a slob.”

“What?” Heat sits up. “You’re like, the furthest person from a slob I’ve ever met. You’re fine.”

Heat suddenly blinks and half sniffs his own armpit.

“Actually, now that you brought it up, I should change into something else. I sweat all over this shirt on the bus and I reek,” Heat mutters.

Sheffield leans over and takes a deep drag of his scent before Heat can even go red in the face.

“It’s definitely there,” Sheffield says with a wry grin. “But it’s not that bad.”

Heat sits up quickly and wriggles out of the shirt, the fur scarf still around his neck. It’s still tied loosely in a knot.

“It looks good on you,” Sheffield remarks.

“Huh? – Oh.” A blush spreads across his face. “Do you want it back?”

Sheffield shakes his head. “Keep it for now. Come on.”

Heat hurriedly throws on an old gray cotton sweater.

Downstairs, the smell of food drenches the hallway. Notes of roasted sweet potato and rice, but overwhelmingly the scent of meat. Inside the kitchen, Heat slides into one of the chairs at the already set table. His father is already sitting opposite him. Sheffield sits into the chair next to Heat.

“So, Serph,” Mr. O’Brien says, leaning his elbow on the table. “I hear you’re not just Heat’s friend, but his roommate?”

“That’s right,” Sheffield says.

“Hope he doesn’t keep you up all night with his snoring,” his father says with a chuckle.

“Dad,” Heat groans.

“Oh, no, he doesn’t snore at all,” Sheffield says politely, waving a hand. “He’s been an excellent roommate to me all semester.”

“Glad to hear it!” Mr. O’Brien leans over the table to clap Heat on the shoulder.

“You’re a first year student as well, Serph?” Heat’s mother asks as she begins portioning off sections of rice on everyone’s plate. 

“Yes.”

“What’re you studying, bud?” Mr. O’Brien asks.

“Psychology,” Sheffield replies, nodding his head in thanks as Heat’s mother slides a generous slice of roast beef onto his plate.

“Wow,” Mrs. O’Brien says, genuinely interested. “That must be quite a lot of reading.”

“He’s really good at it,” Heat blurts out while reaching for a bread roll. “He’s like a mind reader or something. It’s actually kind of scary sometimes.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear you boys both are taking courses you’re interested in,” Mr. O’Brien says. “So, Heat – “

“Oh, Serph, dear, would you like potatoes as well?” Heat’s mother asks.

“Yes, please,” Sheffield says.

“Have you found yourself a girlfriend, yet, Heat?” Mr. O’Brien continues with a grin.

Heat chokes on his water. Sheffield barely contains a laugh as water spills out of Heat’s mouth and onto his sweater.

“Michael,” Mrs. O’Brien scolds, waving a pair of salad tongs at him.

“What? I’m just curious.”

His mother sits down at the table, shaking her head. Heat coughs a few more times. “No, dad.”

“Ah, well,” Mr. O’Brien says. He stabs a piece of roast with his fork. “You’ll find her one of these days.” He turns to Sheffield. “What about you, kiddo? You’re a smart, handsome young man. I bet you’ve got the ladies lined up at the door.”

Sheffield smiles politely. “No, sir. Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t have the time for them, with school and all right now.”

“Smart man,” Mr. O’Brien says, pointing his fork sternly. “That’s the way to go at your age. Focus on your studies. Heat, you could learn a thing or two from this young man.”

“Yeah, dad,” Heat says.

Sheffield tosses him an apologetic shrug.

-

After dinner, Sheffield helps clear the table, and Heat sticks around to run dishes under the sink. Mrs. O’Brien stands next to him, drying off the plates he hands her.

“You know, boys,” she says, stacking the washed plates, “All of Heat’s old games are set up downstairs in the basement. Oh, I don’t know if you’re still into those sorts of thing,” she adds with a chuckle.

“Of course, mom,” Heat says with a grin. “I’ve only been gone for a few months. Nothing’s changed all _that_ much.”

“I know, dear. It just feels like forever!” She laughs again, stacking the final plate. “Go on, go show your friend the game room.”

“C’mon, Serph,” Heat says.

Sheffield finishes wiping his hands on a towel and follows Heat past a door and down a narrow staircase. Heat flicks the lights on downstairs. A soft cream carpet covers the floor, unlike the hardwood above. Heat slumps onto a couch in the middle of the room, facing an old fat television on a wooden stand. Sheffield slips beside him and eyes the tangle of consoles littering the floor.

“Oh, man,” Heat says, rummaging through the plastic and cables. “Do you remember any of these games?”

“Did I live under a rock? Of course I do,” Sheffield says, smirking as he picks up a familiar gray cartridge. “I haven’t seen any of these in ages. Can you put this one in?”

“Dude, yeah, I loved that game!” Heat says, his eyes lighting up as he plugs in the cartridge into the console and boots it up. He tosses Sheffield the other controller.

“Oh, here, check this out,” Heat says. He dashes over to the light switch and hits the dimmer, leaving only muted light in the room. The blue glare of the television is the brightest thing in the room, illuminating their faces. Heat sits cross legged on the floor to be closer to the screen, and Sheffield slips off the couch cushion to be next to him.

Starting up the game, the familiar tunes and noises of the start up menu begin to play. Heat smashes through to the character select menu, his tongue poked out in concentration.

“Who do you usually play as?” Heat asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“This one,” Sheffield replies and hovers over his character with the cursor.

“Oh, you would. That’s so Sheffield,” Heat says playfully.

“I hope you’re ready to get decimated,” Sheffield sneers.

“Please. I’m gonna own you.”

Halfway through the fight they begin to yell at each other, trash talking like they’re in high school again, except neither of them can remember the last time they were so comfortable with the people they were with. Heat smashes the buttons on his controller with so much fervour that they start to rattle, threatening to break the decade old plastic. Sheffield tenses his whole body, mashing buttons with intense concentration. He leans forward in his cross legged position. He executes a throw on Heat’s character right into the edge of the screen and finishes him off. Heat groans and throws himself backwards into the couch.

“Fuck!”

Sheffield chuckles and goes back to the main menu so Heat can re-select his character. “Want to try me again?”

“Why are you so damn good at this?” Heat complains, leaning forward again. “Come on. Fight me again, I’m gonna win this time.”

“Alright,” Sheffield says smugly.

They reselect and Sheffield lets Heat pick the stage and music before the countdown starts and Heat’s character rushes at his. Dodging with ease, Sheffield performs a combo that sweeps Heat off his feet, and then drops an attack on him from above with his sword, skewering him. Sheffield leans back with a smirk.

Heat is visibly flustered. “Again.”

“Okay, O’Brien,” Sheffield smirks. “If you insist.”

Heat picks a different character and slams his thumb on the start button. Leaning forward so far Sheffield thinks he’s going to fall over, Heat furrows his brow in concentration as he smashes the buttons. His character grabs Sheffield’s and throws him to the ground, but Sheffield explodes out of his grip and grabs him right back, juggling him in a combo before executing a final special move. Heat’s mouth falls open as he watches his character flop over like a ragdoll in defeat. He closes it slowly and turns to look at Sheffield, who narrows his eyes with a sly grin.

“Oh, you fucking – “

Heat leans over with a nasty grin, intending to playfully pin Sheffield, but with a one note laugh Sheffield slips away and leaps onto the couch. Heat lunges at him, but Sheffield sticks out his legs, catching Heat in the chest and launching him up and over the couch. He lands with a thud on the carpet.

“Hey!”

“Come on, O’Brien, you can do better than that,” Sheffield taunts, crossing his arms over the top of the couch.

“Alright, Sheffield,” Heat mutters with a grin. “I’m gonna wipe that smug look off your face.”

Heat scrambles to his feet and skids around the corner of the couch, reaching out to grab him. But Sheffield is smaller and more agile. He slithers off the couch to gain a tactical advantage. He grabs Heat by the ankles and pulls, making Heat fall face first into the couch cushion.

“Oh, I swear – “ Heat grunts, getting back up.

Sheffield laughs. “You can’t beat me in a game _or_ in real life.”

Heat goes to grab his shoulders but Sheffield catches his hands in his own, holding them in place. This time, Heat has the advantage of height and upper body strength. With a grin he wrestles Sheffield to the floor and straddles the smaller man’s waist with all his weight to ensure he can’t escape.

“Ha!”

But Sheffield’s body is relaxed. Heat narrows his eyes in suspicious.

“Are you satisfied?” Sheffield asks.

“Not if you let me win,” Heat mutters. “Did you?”

“Perhaps,” Sheffield replies. Suddenly he bucks his hips forcefully enough to push Heat off for a second before he slithers out from underneath him like a weasel, slinking back up to the couch.

“Fuck!” Heat snaps.

In a predatory black and white flash, Sheffield lunges at him, grabbing his shoulders with claw-like hands and using the force of the launch grab Heat’s wrists and pin him to the floor. He leans his center of gravity onto Heat’s chest, leaving only his legs free to flail. Sheffield grins. “I won again.”

“Goddamnit,” Heat says, panting. “How are you so fast? You’re like a fucked up animal.”

“You’re not even going to try and fight back?”

Biting his lip, Heat struggles against him, but eventually slumps back against the carpet with a resigned sigh.

“I guess not,” Heat grumbles.

Sheffield sits back up, towering over Heat. His delicate hands linger on Heat’s chest right below his collarbone.

Heat suddenly realizes how warm Sheffield’s body is on his chest, the pressure of him on top of him strangely pleasant. Sheffield’s legs are tucked neatly against his chest at his sides and Heat notices the brush of Sheffield’s socks on his lower ribcage. He inhales a deep breath and lets it out, watching Sheffield rise and fall on top of him with the breath.

“Hey,” Heat says suddenly.

Sheffield tilts his head. “Hm?”

“Is it true what you said at dinner?” Heat murmurs before he can stop himself.

“About what?” Sheffield asks, matching his soft tone.

“About not having time for dating girls because of school,” Heat says, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, yes,” Sheffield replies. His expression is unreadable. “Actually, if I was being completely honest, I would have told him I’m not interested in girls at all in the first place.”

“You’re not?” Heat asks, glancing back up at him.

“No.” Sheffield’s eyes flash. “Are you?”

Heat opens his mouth but pauses when he registers the question and he realizes he doesn’t know the answer. “I’m… I don’t know. Yeah.”

After a moment, Sheffield asks, “Are you interested in men?”

“No.” Heat pauses. “Maybe. No. I don’t know.”

Sheffield’s eyelids fall until they’re half lidded, watching Heat’s expression intently.

“Have you ever thought about it before?” Sheffield asks, his tone neutral.

Heat averts his gaze again. A heavy silence hangs in the air as the white noise of the TV buzzes, staticky, in the background. Sheffield stares at him, unmoving, unblinking, his face dark except for the glare of the TV reflecting in his eyes.

“Yeah, I have,” Heat says.

“And?”

“I… There is. Someone. There is a guy, that I guess, I would be – “

“Interested in,” Sheffield finishes.

“Yeah,” Heat murmurs. He still won’t look Sheffield in the eyes.

The TV buzzes white noise in the dark quiet of the room. Anxiety churns in Heat’s stomach and his heart threatens to burst out of his ribs. He dreads whatever Sheffield is going to say next, but hates the terrible silence even more. Sheffield’s unreadable neutral expression always makes Heat’s head spin with every negative outcome imaginable.

“Heat,” Sheffield murmurs in a voice that chills Heat to his core.

Heat shifts underneath him before responding in hoarse voice, “Yeah?”

Something tugs inside him like a thorn as Sheffield slips off of him and stands back up, gazing down at him with piercing hawk’s eyes. “Remember what I told you back at the dorm all that time ago.”

Heat sits up. He blinks a few times, recalling the words. Sheffield’s gaze on him feels burning and icy cold at the same time, knowing. The sun outside has set, blackening the basement window, and only the glare from the TV illuminates a silvery outline of Sheffield’s side.

“About… being able to talk, right?” Heat asks. “I remember.”

Sheffield nods, made clear only by the disappearance of the glimmer in his eyes as he bows his head.

“I just wanted you to remember, in any case,” Sheffield says.

“Yeah.”

“Come on,” Sheffield says after a moment of quiet. He pats the couch seat next to him while reaching down and picking up a different game cartridge. “Put this one in instead. We’ll be on the same time, so no more killing each other.”

Heat smiles slightly before inserting it into the console. “Good idea.”

-

Their eyes have been straining in the dark for hours when Heat’s mother calls down to them from the top of the stairs.

“Boys, we’re heading to bed,” Mrs. O’Brien says, “Heat, honey, you’ll take care of Serph’s sleeping arrangements, won’t you? Everything should be in the linen closet.”

“Got it, mom.”

“Alright. Goodnight, boys,” she says.

“Goodnight, Mrs. O’Brien.”

“Night, mom.”

Her footsteps fade as she heads up to the upper floor. Heat leans back and stretches while rubbing his eyes.

“Do you feel like sleeping yet?” he asks. Sheffield shrugs.

“I’ll go to bed whenever you do,” he replies.

“Oh, come on,” Heat groans. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’m serious!” Sheffield says. “You slept on the bus so you’re probably not tired yet. I’ll stay up with you until you are.”

“Fine,” Heat grumbles with a smile. “The videogames are starting to kill my eyes, though.”

“You were the one who dimmed the lights,” Sheffield says with a smirk. “We can do something else.”

Sheffield sets down the controller, then casts a glance at the pitch black basement window. “Hey.”

Heat reaches over with his sock to turn the game console off, leaving the TV blank with white noise. “Yeah?”

“Will you show me around tomorrow?” Sheffield asks. His voice is somewhat distant as he continues staring at the dark window.

“Like around town? Sure, if you want,” Heat says, scratching his head. “There’s not much to see or do, though. It basically all looks as crappy as the bus station.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Sheffield shakes his head. “The town is fine too, but I really want to see the forest.”

“Huh? The one around the house?” Heat asks, confused. “Sure, I guess. They’re just plain old trees.”

“You have no sense of adventure, do you, O’Brien?” Sheffield asks dryly.

“Of course I do!” Heat exclaims. “I just know that they’re the same boring trees that have always been there. There’s nothing special about them.”

Sheffield chuckles, mostly to himself. “If you say so. Come on. Let’s get my bed set up before we both eventually pass out.”

-

After raiding the linen closet, Heat tiptoes through the hallway with a handful of blankets. Sheffield follows quietly.

As Heat is setting things up in the bedroom, Sheffield stands in the hall. His gaze lands on the photo of Heat and his sister again. Heat comes back out into the hallway after setting up Sheffield’s bed.

“Hey, what’s – “ He stops when he realizes what Sheffield is looking at.

“Oh,” Sheffield says quickly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay," Heat says. He glances forlornly at the frame before looking back to Sheffield. He looks slowly towards the closed door next to Heat’s bedroom. One he’s never seen open.

"That's her room," Heat says quietly. " _Was_ her room."

Sheffield nods deeply, eyes flicking back to the frame before looking back at Heat.

“I’m sorry,” Sheffield says.

He waits for Heat to reply, but Heat shrugs and shuffles back into his bedroom.

"Come on," he says, "I got most of your stuff set up."

Once inside, Heat closes the door. On the chair a comforter and a jumble of bed sheets lay stacked on top of each other haphazardly. Taking the sheets, Heat spreads them over a few couch cushions pressed together in a rectangle.

"Uh… Is this okay?" he asks, "I don't really know how to make a temporary bed."

Sheffield looks over the pathetic set up. "It looks... functional."

"What?" Heat says, desperately. "What's wrong with it?"

Sheffield shoots him a tired smile. “Where do I even begin?”

Heat looks flustered. "Um. You can - "

He pauses mid sentence, and Sheffield tilts his head. "Yes?"

"You can, uh," Heat mutters, casting a glance over at his double bed. "You could probably fit in with me."

"In your bed?" Sheffield asks.

"Yeah," Heat grunts. "I mean, obviously, if you don't want to you don't have to but, it's probably better than sleeping on the cold floor on top of that," Heat adds, gesturing to the cluster of cushions and sheets jumbled together on the floor. "Or..."

Heat's face turns slightly dark as he looks at the back of the door. Sheffield knows he's thinking about his sister's room, and he interjects, "Heat. Don't worry. It's okay. I'll stay in here with you."

He puts his hand on Heat's arm comfortingly. "And if you don't mind," he adds, smiling up at him, "I would prefer to be in your bed instead of on that contraption you built."

That makes Heat laugh and Sheffield smiles again.

“Alright, well, I’m gonna change,” Heat says, picking up a pair of shirt and pants from a drawer and heading towards the door.

“You can do it here,” Sheffield says, amused. “You know we live together in the dorm and I’ve seen you change tons of times, right?”

“Oh. Right.” Heat turns around on a dime, face flushed. Heat wriggles out of his shirt and into a larger loose fitting one, and into a looser pair of pyjama pants.

“I can leave to change if you want,” Sheffield says, with a half smirk.

“N-no, it’s fine, you don’t have to. Unless you want to,” Heat says, flustered. “I mean. I’ve seen you change before too.”

Sheffield chuckles, giving him a sly look. “I know.”

Sheffield lifts the shirt over his head and tosses it carefully to the chair, and slips out of his jeans as well. Heat tries to avert his gaze but when Sheffield looks over his shoulder to meet his eyes, Heat swallows hard. Sheffield lets the fabric slip off his legs. He picks them up and puts it on top of his shirt, and then slips into his own night clothes.

After changing, Sheffield slumps down on the edge of Heat’s bed, and Heat sits down on the other side.

“This is already more comfortable than the beds in our dorm,” Sheffield remarks, pushing down on the mattress.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Heat says. “This is probably the thing I missed the most about my room.”

With a tired sigh, Sheffield lays down on his back. His back aches from hours gaming and wrestling in the basement.

When he opens his eyes, he sees that Heat remains upright and is looking down at him. Sheffield blinks.

“Heat,” Sheffield begins softly, “Are you sure this is okay? I’m fine sleeping on the floor if you really want me to.”

“Y-yeah, it’s fine,” Heat says. “I wouldn’t have invited you up here if I didn’t want you here.”

Sheffield smiles and pats the space next to him, inviting Heat to lay down. It feels silly, inviting him to lay down in his own bed. He obliges, laying down so there’s a moderate amount of space between them. The dark silence of the room settles on them. Outside the cold wind howls low in the trees, rattling the window.

“Are you cold?” Heat asks.

“A little.”

Heat pulls the comforter over them.

Sheffield lets out a tiny grunt of effort as he shifts towards Heat.

“Heat,” Sheffield begins in a soft voice.

“Yeah?” Heat replies.

“Do you believe in God?” Sheffield asks.

A silence settles on both of them. A moment passes before Heat responds.

“I don’t know.” Another silence. “Do you?”

“I don’t think I do,” Sheffield murmurs, staring at the ceiling. “Or maybe I do. If a god did exist, and did curse me inside this wretched body, I’d want to personally kill them.”

Heat lets out a long soulful sigh. “I would too.”

“Kill a god?” Sheffield asks.

“Yeah,” Heat says in a low tone. “For my sister.”

Sheffield nods in understanding.

“It’s not fair,” Heat continues. The pain in his voice is deep, even while trying to disguise it. “It’s not fair that she didn’t get to live. Why did They take her instead of me?”

His head sinks deeper into the pillow in frustration. He shuts his eyes in hopes of blocking the tears from forming.

“There’s no rhyme or reason,” Sheffield says. He finds Heat’s hand on the comforter and gently places his palm on top of it. “There’s no point to any of it. You never should have lost her like that. I should have never been born this way.”

He lifts his hand from Heat’s and turns it over in the air, looking at it.

“If I could kill any sort of God that did this, I would,” he says again. “I would kill Them for your sister too.”

Heat lets out a deep sigh. “I would want to do it myself,” he says with determination.

Sheffield turns his head slightly to look at his expression. Even in the blackness, his eyes look hard and darkened, his brow creased. Heat suddenly looks tired in a way that Sheffield has never seen before. Intense in a way he has never seen. A smirk creeps onto Sheffield’s lips.

“Do it with me, Heat,” Sheffield says with a dry smile. Heat slowly raises his own arm next to Sheffield’s, opening and closing his fist in the air. “Let’s kill god together.”

“Alright. I’ll come with you.” Heat bumps the side of his fist against Sheffield’s open palmed hand. “Let’s do it.”

Their hands slump back onto the comforter.

“I’m sorry for bringing all of this up,” Sheffield says after a moment.

“No, don’t worry about it. It was nice to talk about, I guess,” Heat replies. He lets out a humourless laugh. “I can’t believe we’re gonna kill God together.”

Sheffield turns over in bed to face the wall. “We can think about it tomorrow when we have more energy. Right now I’m totally beat.”

“Me too,” Heat says with a sigh of relief, throwing his forearm over his his eyes.

“Don’t forget, you promised to show me the woods tomorrow,” Sheffield reminds him.

“I know.”

“Goodnight, O’Brien,” Sheffield says.

“Night, Serph,” Heat murmurs.

The low wind howls again against the window again. Heat closes his eyes, and forces all the previous thoughts about his sister out of his mind. Instead he lets himself imagine what he talked about with Sheffield. His hand curls up at his side, into a loose fist, before releasing it again. He drifts off with a mild fury burning in his stomach, an intense feeling rising inside of him.


	20. 20.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read chapter 19 notes if you haven't already!

The next morning when Heat comes to, Sheffield is already gone.

He sits up slowly, looking around the room, seeming to forget that he’s not in his dorm anymore. Snow has has piled on the windowsill. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and walks to the window. He realizes a storm must have happened during the night, as all the ground is blanketed in snow and the trees are sagging with snow and ice. Condensation has fogged up the glass. Heat reaches out before he realizes what he’s doing and draws smiley face through the fog. He shakes his head quickly and changes before heading to the bathroom.

The tile floor is cold against his bare feet and he shudders. He looks at himself in the mirror.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee and pancakes waft through the main floor. He pads to the kitchen where his parents and Sheffield are already sitting at the table.

“Morning, son,” Mr. O’Brien says from behind a newspaper.

“Good morning, Heat,” his mother says warmly. Sheffield pulls out the chair next to him.

“Morning,” Heat mutters, sliding in next to Sheffield and loading his plate with pancakes.

“How did you sleep, Serph?” his mother asks. “I hope the floor wasn’t too cold. I know the upper floors get chilly.”

Heat’s heart beats faster for a split second and he casts a rapid glance in Sheffield’s direction, but Sheffield only smiles and raises the coffee mug to his lips.

“It wasn’t bad at all,” he says. “I had enough blankets that I stayed warm all night, even through that snowstorm.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Mr. O’Brien says, gesturing with his coffee mug, “Your mother and I have to run to town to get salt for the driveway and get the tires changed. I didn’t expect that damn storm to come until later in the week.”

“I heard we were supposed to have another one tonight,” Mrs. O’Brien says, pouring Sheffield some more coffee. “Hopefully we won’t be too long. But if we do get stuck, you boys should be okay to stay alone for the night. We have food and firewood, and –“

“Oh, Martha, stop, we won’t get stuck down there, stop scaring the boys,” Mr. O’Brien interrupts, waving his fork.

“Just in case. Anyway, Heat, why don’t you show Serph around, if you don’t mind? I’m sure he’d love to see around the property. Or oh, you can even take him to the park!” Mrs. O’Brien says excitedly.

“Mom, that’s not a park. And besides, Serph wouldn’t want to see that boring old wheat field,” Heat mutters between stuffing forkfuls of pancakes into his mouth.

“I’d love to see it, actually,” Sheffield says. “Heat actually promised me he would take me into the woods.”

“Oh, Serph, that’s a lovely idea,” Mrs. O’Brien says, “Make sure you dress for the weather. Heat should have an extra pair of boots in the closet.”

“Thank you, Mrs. O’Brien,” Sheffield says with a gentle smile, knowing full well that Heat’s shoes aretoo large for him.

“Well, come on, Martha, let’s head on out before the sun sets,” Mr. O’Brien says, chugging the last of his coffee before slamming the mug down on the table and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Okay, see you boys! Stay warm!”

She heads out the door with her husband, leaving Sheffield and Heat at the kitchen table sitting next to each other. 

“Well?” Sheffield asks, sipping the last of his own coffee. “Shall we?”

 

-

Throwing Sheffield’s rabbit fur scarf back around his neck, Heat exits the front door with Sheffield behind.

“Do you need me to lock the door?” Sheffield asks.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Heat says, waving it off, “No one’s going to walk a mile in two feet of snow to mug us. You’re from the city, right?”

“Yes,” Sheffield says, amused. “That would have never flown where I’m from.”

“Come on,” Heat says, taking a few crunching footsteps into the deep snow on the side lawn. “I’ll show you the boring old trees, city boy.”

Sheffield follows him past the property line and into the sparse woodland stretched out over the snow. Thin flurries sweep over them, dusting their coats with fluffy snowflakes. The wind howls in the distance.

Reaching over with a long leg, Heat steps over a large fallen log. “Be careful,” he calls.

“I know. I see it,” Sheffield replies, clearing the log with ease.

He leads Sheffield through the sparse woodland into the thicker brush, where twigs crunch underfoot beneath a layer of snow. The forest is silent except for the distant calls of birds and the crunching of snow, and the falling of snow from top heavy branches. Sheffield matches Heat’s longer legged strides, keeping up as he trudges through the brush.

“There’s not really much to see,” Heat admits, sounding apologetic.

“What do you mean?” Sheffield asks. “There’s plenty.”

“You’re so weird,” Heat says with a smile. “I’m glad you appreciate it, I guess. I grew up here so this is all just normal and boring to me.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Sheffield says, a note of amusement in his voice. “How you’ve become to accustomed to this beautiful landscape that you begin to take it for granted. Not to say that that’s bad of you, or anything. I just wonder if the same experience would happen to me in the opposite situation.”

“You mean in the city?” Heat asks. He stumbles slightly in a particularly deep snow bank. “Oof.”

“Yes.”

“I dunno,” Heat says. “I like where our campus is, I guess. Not too big of a city but not here out in the boonies either.”

“You would probably get lost downtown where I’m from,” Sheffield says with a grin.

Heat laughs. “Definitely.”

A moment later, Heat adds, “Watch your step here.”

Heat presses his boot hesitantly to the surface of the frozen creek, leans forward a bit more, and finally deems it safe to stand on. Making sure not to slip, he steps over the thick ice. Sheffield slides elegantly across, like he’s been skating his entire life.

“See? This is fun,” Sheffield says.

“Weirdo.” Heat grins.

The forest thickens suddenly, with tree trunks twice as large as Heat’s width. The sun filters down through the leafless canopy.

“Are we heading anywhere in particular?” Sheffield asks.

“I wasn’t at first,” Heat says, turning to look at him over his shoulder. “But now I’m taking you to the lake.”

“Oh?” Sheffield asks with intrigue.

“I completely forgot about it until now,” Heat continues, “But there’s a lake deeper in the forest. I used to go there all the time in the summer when I was younger, with my – sister.” Heat pushes a half-frozen branch out of the way, and holds it until Sheffield is clear. “I want to see if its frozen solid.”

They reach the top of a ravine, looking down onto a thinner expanse of woodland and in the distance Sheffield spots the slight shine of light reflected off a glassy surface, snow uncovered in a single area. 

“I see it there,” Sheffield remarks, gesturing down the ravine.

“Oh, nice, you found it!” Heat grins at him before stepping forward. His boot crunches through the snow and catches on the ice frozen underneath. Instantly he flips forward, letting out a cry as he hurtles forward, face first into the snow. Sheffield laughs as Heat rolls down the slope, covered in snow. He finally lands at the bottom with an “oof” sound. Sheffield slides down the ravine next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Sheffield asks, still laughing. He dusts some of the snow off of Heat’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Heat says, getting to his feet.

“Come on.” He claps Heat on the back.

Heat hurries to catch up with him. Sheffield gets closer to the lake carefully, toeing the edge of what he thinks is the shore with his boot. The glassy surface shines in the pale sunlight as he pushes a pile of snow away. He kneels down and wipes the ice with his glove, exposing more of the frozen lake. His reflection peers back at him in the cold mirror. He blinks in surprise. In the reflection, a smile is tugging at the edge of his lips.

“Looking good,” Heat says, leaning over Sheffield so that his face is in the reflection as well.

Sheffield smirks and stands back up. “This is your lake, right?”

“Sure is,” Heat says. He pokes his tongue out playfully in concentration as he tests the surface with his boot. When the ice doesn’t break under his weight, he tries a little bit more of it until he’s standing completely on the edge of the frozen water. “Check it out!”

“Impressive,” Sheffield says wryly. “What’s going to happen if you fall through?”

"I'll be fine. And if I do fall through, you can just fish me out." Heat says with a grin. He tries another step forward, and tentatively a few more until he's standing in the middle of the lake. He leans forward slightly so his body is at a small angle, and he waves at Sheffield back on the shore. Sheffield chuckles softly, thinking about how much of an idiot he looks like. He waves back to appease him. Heat grins and calls, "Come here with me."

Sheffield rolls his eyes and toes the edge of the frozen lake. He steps onto it hesitantly, but doesn't go any further.

"What's wrong?" Heat asks. "Don't worry about the ice. If it's thick enough to hold me, you should be fine to come up here too."

Sheffield doesn't respond. He turns his head towards the ravine with his face slightly hardened in concern. Twigs snap and something blurs in the woods.

"Serph?" Heat asks again.

"Hold on," Sheffield says. "Something's in the forest."

"It's probably just a fox or deer or something. Don't worry about it."

Without a response, Sheffield keeps his eyes trained on the trees. From the top of the ravine something thunders down with unparalleled grace, bounding around the trunks of trees and over fallen logs and feet never once slipping on the ice beneath. Sheffield's eyes widen in recognition.

"It's the deer," Sheffield says quietly.

"What? I can't hear you," Heat calls. "Wait, what is that?"

Without a misstep the huge deer springs down the slope, getting closer to them with every bound. It kicks off at the bottom of the ravine it springs exceptionally high, kicking out with its spindly legs before hurtling forward. Its black eyes flash with emotion - fear - before they go blank and it runs forward, unthinking. His brow furrows, thinking that it seems like its running away from something. Sheffield doesn't have time to react as it leaps almost above his head and lands on the surface of the ice with a heavy thunk. The sound of the ice cracking reaches his ears before Sheffield sees the vein like cracks spreading through the lake's surface.

"Serph!" Heat cries out Sheffield's name as a huge split rends the lake down the middle. The deer cries out in fear, scrambling uselessly on the ice, but its nimble legs allow it to spring upwards and onto the other side of the lake and out of the way of danger. In a split second the surface breaks clean through and Heat slips in between two thick sheets of ice, grappling uselessly with his gloves, before slipping and disappearing beneath the water's surface.

"Heat!" Sheffield yells, running onto the solid piece of ice on his side of the lake. The ice crumbles the closer it gets to the lake's surface, where the giant schism now lies. He bites his lip in distress. He kneels slightly towards the ground and inches forward as carefully as he can. A tiny crack underneath his boot makes him pause. He mentally curses himself. He knows he can't let himself fall through or there would be no one else left to help him.

Suddenly a gasp comes from the schism as Heat resurfaces, his yellow eyes wide with fear and his drenched blond hair plastered to his face.

"Heat!" Sheffield shouts again.

"Serph!" Heat yells, his voice hoarse. He spits out a mouthful of frigid water, coughing. "It's okay, don't worry about me!"

“What do you mean, you idiot?” Sheffield snaps. He inches forward, leaning closer to the surface, eyes focused on the ice underneath. He slips off one of his gloves.

Heat throws an arm onto the ice, grappling uselessly with his wet glove. He hauls himself onto the surface of a sheet of ice in front of him but it shatters underneath his weight. Heat slips underneath the water’s surface again.

Sheffield wants to kill Heat for letting himself go under the water. He grinds his teeth and inches further towards the schism. Something pounds inside Sheffield’s head. A fury pulses through his veins and he barks out a cry of pain, falling to his knees. Pulling his coat sleeve back, he exposes his naked wrist. He bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

Red pounds against the back of his eyes, pulsing and angry. Flesh rips from his forearm, his skeleton wrenching out of itself before falling back into place, longer and thicker, dripping in black sludge before it finally reforms in a sleek dark shape of a huge clawed hand. Sheffield hisses. Claws burst forth from his black fingertips, sharp and curved. They flex in and out of his flesh before disappearing inside the dark mass of his arm. Sheffield lurches forward and lands on his knees on the ice’s surface. With a black fist, he smashes away chunks of scattered ice.

When the view has cleared Sheffield thrusts his blackened arm into the ice cold water. Sheffield’s eyes are closed, his head pounding, and blood pulsing behind his eyelids. Flexing his clawed fingers underwater, he finds Heat’s body floating. He snarls with effort and grasps Heat’s chest between his fingers and thumb like he’s a doll, heaving him out of the water. He throws him far away from the center of the lake. Heat’s unconscious body slides across the thick ice until it reaches the shore.

Sheffield grinds his pointed teeth together, letting his monster arm drag on the surface. He grasps his head with his normal hand hard enough to pull his hair. He spits. He glares up at Heat’s body, his chest heaving with bursting effort. Pulling himself to his feet, he trudges towards him. He tries to shake the power from his arm, but the rage within him won’t subside.

With a shaky heave, he hauls himself towards Heat’s limp body. He rolls him over gently with his massive claw until he’s face up. Sheffield looks down at his face. His lips are turning blue and his wet hair is plastered to his face.

Suddenly Sheffield spits in anger. It lands, reddish black, in the snow, like poison. His lip curls back in disgust. Without letting his mind get the best of him, he picks Heat up with his transformed arm and throws him carefully over his shoulder. Icy water drips off of him, and being soaked makes him weigh more than he already does. His legs half drag in the snow because he’s too tall for Sheffield to carry. Sheffield pauses. His eyes narrow.

With a growl of irritation, he lays Heat back on the ground. He flicks his normal arm out, rolling his fingers languidly as the power intertwines through them. The darkness consumes his fingers first, transforming them to long black claws, then his whole hand, snaking up his wrist to devour his forearm until finally it has enveloped him up to the shoulder. The bone scythe in his arm twitches. He raises his lip as the power washes over him. He thinks, disgustedly, that he might as well let his whole body transform, and it does. Blackness envelopes him, tight to the skin, leaving nothing of his human body behind. His hands, now claws, flex back and forth with rippling power. He stands taller, on strong haunches of a beast, on tip toes of a long foot the mix of a deer’s hoof and a wolf’s paw. He shakes his head, droplets of blackness flying from his throat. A low growl emits from between the sharp teeth in his maw. Now standing taller and stronger than Heat, he picks him back up from the snow with ease, letting him drape on his blackened shoulder.

He pads through the snow, crawling up the slope of the ravine on all fours. As the incline raises sharply he snarls silently in irritation, using one clawed hand to hold Heat against his shoulder and the other to slam into the frozen earth underneath the snow. Snow falls away and ice shatters beneath his claws with every step. Finally at the top of the ravine, he shakes his head again.

He hears something. The path of the deer lays before him in the snow, leading straight back to Heat’s home. Sheffield’s jaws part slightly with disgust. Something churns in his stomach, a red flame of rage. His frame shifts forward slightly so he’s hunched over. He holds Heat tightly with one hand as he lurches forward, dashing on three legs. An unfamiliar scent hits his nose, making it wrinkle in disgust. The trees blur past like insignificant twigs. Snow flies out from under his feet as he races towards the house. Something feels horribly wrong.

A moment later he hurtles past the last of the trees and reaches the clearing. The home stands in front of him. He immediately notices what is amiss. The front door, left unlocked from when they left earlier, stands slightly ajar.

His growling stops as he senses the faint vibration of rapid footsteps coming from inside. He crawls forward. The steps are coming from upstairs. He pushes carefully past the door and instantly his pointed ears flatten as the hideous stench of a stranger hits his nose. Laying Heat on the couch of the living room, he turns his eyeless gaze towards the staircase. The odour of the stranger – a man, he smells – wafts almost visibly in his sharpened senses, like poisonous gas polluting the natural scent of Heat’s home.

He crawls silently up the stairs. His thick black form slinks up to the top floor, where his sharp nose pinpoints where the stench originates. His jaws part and a horrible growl threatens to overflow from his teeth.

Something rustles inside the door to Heat’s sister’s room.

Sheffield tenses and waits in the hallway, lurking like a shadow sprung to leap. A moment later clumsy footsteps reach his ears, and a man stumbles out of the room. He smears his hand on the front of the door as he pushes it past. A golden locket dangles from his other hand.

“You,” Sheffield growls, a low horrible voice emanating from his jaws like distorted static. The man jumps and lurches around. His eyes widen in horror as they fall on Sheffield’s shadowy form. Frozen in place, the locket slips from his hand. Sheffield lets out a wretched scream. The man instantly bolts past him, fuelled by fear, skidding at the top of the stairs and half falling down the steps. He cries in fear, not even looking back but knowing Sheffield is hot on his trail, screeching a horrible vibrating noise.

The man clears the threshold of the doorway and Sheffield’s fury finally bursts in his chest. He leaps, free of the restraint of destroying the family’s property. The fire of rage consumes him, overflowing from his jaws in the form of a terrible howl. He slashes out with his scythes and the man falls uselessly in the snow. He scrambles forwards, too afraid to look back. Sheffield rains down a rally of slashes. Blood paints his claws, the only colour on his black form.

He grits his fangs. He doesn’t want to sully the land around the home, and he doesn’t want to leave a trace of evidence. He grabs the man’s body in a fisted claw, like a limp ragdoll, and launches him into the woods. The man makes an unintelligible noise as Sheffield hurtles towards him again. He tries to crawl away with a trail of blood soaking into the snow.

“Don’t bother,” Sheffield snarls, voice distorted. “You will die here.”

The man whirls his head around, eyes wide and glinting with fear. Sheffield grabs the man’s body with both his claws, one around his head and the other around his waist. Before the man can even begin to plead for his life, Sheffield rips the head clean off his shoulders, like ripping paper.

He drops the lower half of the body into the snow. With a growl he opens his jaws, black tongue rolling out. He puts the man’s head on his tongue, rolling it into his maw, and crushing it between his fangs. He swallows as blood pours from between his teeth. He looks down at the rest of the body. Within moments, the rest of the man’s broken and shredded body is consumed.

Sheffield looks down at his blood soaked claws. His lip curls in disgust. He flicks it off his hands, staining the snow around him with black and red droplets.Looking back at them, his eyes flick back against his skull. He wonders, with a flick of a tongue over his lips, how this happened. He snarls alone in the woods in disgust and confusion.

When did he let himself go this far?

When did he start to lose his path?

The snowstorm begins to rage.

Without a last glance at the flattened patch of snow the man had been in moments earlier, Sheffield turns back towards the home.

-

The room is warm, too warm, uncomfortably so, which is why he wakes up. His eye opens and he grunts. The crackle of the fire in the fireplace and the candles burn, spread sporadically around the room. He shifts, throwing the heavy blanket off onto the other side of the couch, and swings his legs over the side.

“Serph?” he calls, his voice hoarse.

He tries to sit up and finds his body stiff. His skin itches underneath pyjama pants he doesn’t remember changing into, as if he was out in the cold for too long.

Suddenly the memories of what happened flood back to him. He groans, holding his head. “Serph? You there?” he calls again more clearly.

A black haired head pokes out of the kitchen. “Oh, Heat!”

Sheffield runs into the living room. He’s wearing a different outfit than what Heat recalls.

“What happened?” Heat asks, holding his head. “I remember falling into the lake and going under… And you were calling me. I must have blacked out.”

“You did,” Sheffield replies. “I hauled you out and back home. And changed you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Heat smiles slightly. “No, it’s fine.” His smile fades as he tries to piece the information together in his mind. The image of Sheffield falling beneath the ice flashes before his eyes and he shakes his head. “How did you get me out without falling in? Did you fall in too? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Sheffield says, waving it off. “I didn’t fall. Don’t worry about me. It’s you who you should be worried about. Are you warm?”

“Yeah. Too warm,” Heat says with a soft laugh. “I’m dying here.”

Sheffield narrows his eyes with a wry smile. “You were freezing cold when I pulled you out of the water. You idiot,” he punches him lightly in the shoulder. “I was worried about you.”

“I know. Sorry.” Heat looks up at him through his hair. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sheffield says softly after a long sigh.

The phone rings on the dresser in the hall and Sheffield runs after it, sliding on the hardwood in his socks. “Hello?”

Heat strains to listen and only hears Sheffield’s side of the conversation, but recognizes the shrillness of his mother’s voice. He lays back on the couch, throwing his forearm over his eyes. Sheffield’s polite but upbeat voice and soft laughs carry back into the living room. Heat’s brows furrow. 

When Sheffield comes back into the room, Heat lowers his arm. “What’d she say?”

“They won’t be able to make it back in time,” Sheffield says, shaking his head. “The storm got too strong. Just like your mom said. She told me they’re staying with your aunt in town tonight.”

“Is it snowing that hard?” Heat sits back up and cranes his head to look out the front window. He blinks back surprise as pure white rages outside, too thick to see anything else. He stands up and goes to it, putting his hand against the windowpane. “Oh, wow. Serph, check it out!”

Sheffield comes up beside him and peers close enough into the glass that his breath fogs the window. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“More like a damn pain,” Heat says with a grin. He catches Sheffield’s soft smile from the corner of his eye. Even though he always good, Heat thinks he looks especially beautiful in the dying light of the blizzard outside. His dark eyelashes flutter softly against his cheeks as he blinks. Their gazes meet in the corners of their eyes.

“Hey,” Heat says suddenly. “Can I tell you something?”

Sheffield looks up at him. “Yes, of course.”

Running a hand through his hair with a sigh, Heat leans on the windowsill. “For a while now, probably a few months, I’ve been having these weird dreams. Nightmares, really. I’ve kind of been too embarrassed to mention it until now.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed over your dreams,” Sheffield says.

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Heat says with a chuckle. “Anyway… It always starts with me running away from this big horrible… monster.” The word comes off his tongue like a curse, as if saying it out loud confirms all his fears. Suddenly he feels ridiculous for even bringing it up.

Sheffield blinks, his expression unchanging. “Go on, Heat. I’m listening.”

“It’s this… big ugly thing. I never get a good chance to look at it properly, but its huge and dark and to be honest it scares the shit out of me.”

Sheffield nods.

“It always ends with me… dying,” Heat says flatly. “Not just dead but mangled.”

“Mangled how?” Sheffield asks. He leans against the windowsill.

“Like,” Heat says with a humourless laugh, “Torn in half. Split open. Organs everywhere and being eaten alive.”

Sheffield’s eyes widen.

“Sorry,” Heat adds, seeing the expression on his face cloud with darkness, “I didn’t mean to be so vulgar. I just wanted to be as detailed as possible.”

“I’m sorry. It’s alright,” Sheffield says, his voice low. “Keep going.”

Heat cringes in sympathy but continues, “That’s always how it ends. With me dying. I used to run away as hard as I could, and I would try to fight it but eventually I started giving up. I would let it pick me up and just… tear me open and eat me. It was kind of relieving, to be honest.”

“What is?”

“Giving up,” Heat says quietly. “Letting it just do whatever it wants.”

Sheffield brings his hand up to his face in thought. He asks, “What exactly is relieving about it, do you think?”

It takes a moment for Heat to answer. He leans his weight back into the windowsill with a troubled sigh. “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s easier that way. It’s easier to just give up and let it fucking eat me. After a while it feels comforting, I guess, to know that it’s always going to end the same way so I might as well not fight it.”

“Interesting,” Sheffield murmurs. After a short pause, he asks, “What made you bring this up all of a sudden?”

“To be honest, I think I had another dream like that while I was unconscious,” Heat says.

Sheffield’s blood runs cold but his expression keeps its neutrality. He forces his heartbeat to remain stable. 

“Oh?” Sheffield says. “You mean while you were unconscious?”

“Yeah.” He shifts against the wooden rail, making an uncomfortable face. “When I was passed out, I had this weird hazy dream. Maybe it was because I was unconscious and not just asleep but it felt different than usual. It was really grungy and…”

Sheffield nods gently in encouragement.

“Like it was almost real? Like there were tons of layers of filth on a camera lens, but if I peeled them back it would be the real thing, right in front of me,” Heat says. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly the same dream anyway, so maybe it was just a weird fever dream.”

“What about it was different?” Sheffield asks.

“The monster was different,” Heat says with a grimace. The word still sounds awkward in his mouth. “Well, I mean, I could see this one more clearly. The usual one in my nightmares I never got a good look at, but it seemed way bigger than the one I saw just now.”

“Maybe the one in your nightmares seems inflated in size due to your fear,” Sheffield says in a strange tone.

“Maybe,” Heat responds. He doesn’t notice the flash across Sheffield’s eyes. “Anyway, this one wasn’t doing anything like chasing me around or trying to eat me. It was just kind of there.”

“That’s all you recall?” Sheffield asks quietly.

“I think so. There was no violence or fear, like there usually is,” Heat mumbles. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure why I mentioned it now, honestly. Nothing even happened. I kind of feel like an idiot now,” He says with a weak laugh. “Sorry for just dumping this on you all of a sudden.”

“No, it’s alright. You can tell me anything, remember?” Sheffield replies with a gentle smile.

“Yeah. I know. Thanks,” Heat murmurs. “Hey, you wanna play videogames again? Since we’re gonna be stuck alone together all night I might as well get another chance to own you.”

“Please, O’Brien, you almost died once today, maybe you should recover a bit more before making challenges,” Sheffield says slyly.

“You are so dead after I go take a leak,” Heat says with a grin as he runs off into the hallway and up the stairs to the bathroom.

The expression on Sheffield’s face turns cold as soon as Heat leaves the room.


	21. 21.

After drying his hands, Heat saunters back into the hall. Sheffield has turned most of the lights on downstairs but the upper floor is still dark with the lack of light filtering in from outside. He shuffles forward, squinting. He wonders if Sheffield is already downstairs in the basement, setting up the game console. He smirks while walking, thinking about how he's going to defeat him for sure this time.

His foot suddenly catches on a rumple in the rug and he falls forward, landing awkwardly on his knees. He catches the dresser in the hall on his way down. "Ugh," he groans to himself. Putting his other hand down to push himself back up, something smears against his fingers. With a grimace of cautious disgust, he pulls his hand closer up to his face. He squints harder in the darkness to be able to see it. There, smeared against the pad of his finger, is a pure black droplet like ink. His brow furrows. "What the hell?"

His gaze falls to the spot on the floor where it touched his hand. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he follows a lightly spattered trail across the bottom of the door. He's hit with a horrible wrenching feeling in his stomach. It's the door to his sister's room.

His lip curls into a grimace. Getting to his feet, he pushes the door in and walks carefully inside. With a quick glance around he determines nothing is out of place. A strange sense of foreboding creeps through his body but he doesn't understand why. He looks around some more warily and eventually turns to leave, something glints in the corner of the room. Heat's eyes widen. His younger sister's golden locket glimmers in the weak light from the bedside table. He takes the locket in his hand, his eyebrows furrowing.

"This was..." Heat mumbles to himself. His glance flits back to the dresser nearby. He opens the third drawer from the top in a panic and his blood chills when the locket isn't there, but in his hands.

He places the locket back where its supposed to be and closes the dresser, rushing downstairs.

"Serph?" Heat asks in a panicked voice.

"Yes, Heat?" comes the casual reply.

"Why - why is - " Heat stammers but stops suddenly. He forces himself to breathe. "Did you go into my sister's room?"

Sheffield's dark eyes widen. "No," he replies, his tone suddenly fiercely serious. "Why did you ask?"

"The locket," Heat mutters, and recognition flashes across Sheffield's face, "It wasn't where it used to be."

Sheffield's gaze follows Heat's hand as he gestures while speaking. The black ink is still beading against his skin.

"You touched the blackness?" Sheffield asks calmly.

"What?" Heat almost yells. He remembers the mysterious substance he touched on the floor. "Oh. Yeah. Why?"

Sheffield closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. He holds his hand in one hand. Heat is staring at him with a growing look of suspicion. The usual warmth in his honey coloured eyes has hardened into something Sheffield has never seen directed at him before. Sheffield looks up as calmly as he can.

"Heat," he says quietly.

"What?" Heat almost snaps.

"I know which conclusion you've jumped to," Sheffield says, "But I can assure you that it's not what you're thinking. I wasn’t snooping around in your sister’s room without your permission."

Heat feels the fire of anger burning slowly in the pit of his stomach but forces his face to relax. He sighs. "Sorry,” he says coldly, “I didn't mean to jump to conclusions about you rummaging through my dead sister’s shit without my permission, but what else am I supposed to think?"

"I understand," Sheffield says with a nod. "But I guess there's no way to explain it to you without showing you the whole picture.” Sheffield grimaces and looks down at his clenching hand. “And I can’t do that yet,” he mutters.

“Can’t what?” Heat growls.

“I can’t show you yet,” Sheffield mutters. “It’s not the right time.”

“Serph, what the hell?” Heat spits, smashing the sink drawer with his fist and making Sheffield flinch. “What are you saying?”

“I cannot show you yet,” Sheffield repeats with an edge in his voice. “I’m sorry.” Fury rages behind Heat’s eyes and Sheffield holds out a dainty hand in an effort to calm him down. “I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking, but I can assure you the reality is different than that. I’m sorry I can’t tell you the truth.”

Heat’s eyes burn into his, his blonde hair bristling. His body is tense and his fists are clenched at his sides. With a growl he punches the drawer door again before storming off.

“Heat,” Sheffield starts warily, but Heat is already shoving his boots on and coat. He throws the front door open and trudges outside into the blizzard. “Heat!” Sheffield calls again, louder.

Sheffield curses under his breath and runs after him, hastily throwing a jacket on and gritting his teeth. The blast of the cold air hits him like a truck. He grabs the keys and locks the door before running after Heat, who is stumbling furiously through the shin deep snow.

“O’Brien!” Sheffield snaps.

Heat doesn’t turn around. He trudges forward with his fists still balled at his sides. The icy wind whips at his face like razors and the snow burns his skin through the thin fabric of his pants. His heart beats furiously in his chest, his mind racing with a million horrible images and thoughts of betrayal. He feels Sheffield’s gaze on the back of his head.

“Leave me alone,” Heat snaps, loud enough that Sheffield can hear him over the howl of the wind.

Sheffield snarls silently and stops in his tracks. He watches Heat storm further into the snow, past the property line and into the sparse area of trees before the forest engulfs the land.

Heat stops when he sees the splatter of blood in the snow. His heart drops into his stomach.

He stumbles a step backwards before leaning closer to it again, as if to double check if its really what he thinks it is. Kneeling down, he reaches out a shaky hand to scoop a chunk of the blood soaked snow in his bare hand. His eyes widen and he swallows hard, realizing that there’s too much blood to be left over from a prey animal. Besides that, there’s no fur or flesh left over. A chill runs down his spine. The snow falls from between his fingers as he backs up in horror.

He turns around, eyes wide in terror, as he walks through the sparse woodlands back to where Sheffield is standing with narrowed eyes and arms crossed.

“What?” Sheffield asks, somewhat coldly.

“Why is there blood in the snow?” Heat asks without looking at him.

Sheffield’s breath catches in his throat. His arms fall to his sides. “What?”

“Why are you acting like you have something to do with this?” Heat spits.

“Excuse me?” Sheffield snarls.

“The weird black shit in my house, the locket that you moved, the fact you wouldn’t fucking tell me anything about it, and now the blood in the goddamn snow? What the fuck are you hiding from me, Serph?” Heat begins to shout and Sheffield can feel anger boiling inside him again, but a different kind than before. His fingers curl against his sides and his eyes narrow darkly.

“Why don’t you have anything to say?” Heat spits. Barely two feet between them. “What happened to ‘you can tell me anything’? I fucking invite you to my home, trust you near my family? My sister’s room? I can’t believe you, Serph.”

The words drip from his mouth like poison escaping from his body. With every word that escapes he feels the betrayal burn. His heart is on fire with pain. Sheffield just stands there, listening with his expression neutral, and it infuriates him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Heat yells, almost breaking into a sob. “I’m accusing you of all this shit and you won’t even reject any of it? I thought we could tell each other anything, but you won’t even fucking tell me about whatever _this_ is?”

The wind howls and slices at their faces and Sheffield forces himself not to cringe in disgust at Heat’s words and the pain of the blizzard.

“You won’t even talk to me anymore,” Heat says flatly. He suddenly wants to hurts him, and before he can think twice about it, the words come spitting from his mouth, “I put up with all your gender shit but you can’t even do this one fucking thing for me – “

Something snaps inside Sheffield and his control breaks in half, blackness bursting from his flesh and turning his balled up hand into a huge dark clawed fist that slams into Heat’s side, sending him flying into the snow drift. Heat chokes out a thick cough, whirling his head back around in horror. Sheffield stares at him with huge eyes crazed with fury.

Heat’s eyes flit down to Sheffield’s arm, huge and grotesque and pulsing with darkness. His claws roll back and forth, clenching and unclenching, and Heat’s stomach lurches in horror. He tries to scramble to his feet, but the snow falls away under his hands, leaving him stuck in the drift.

“Serph,” Heat’s voice comes out shakily as he looks up at the monstrosity before him. Sheffield opens his mouth but no words come out; only a low, terrible growl.

“Serph, what’s wrong with you?” Heat asks again, louder, his voice cracking. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

With a last low snarl, Sheffield turns his head and stalks off into the other end of the woods, leaving Heat wide eyed and alone in the blizzard.

-

He manages to control his rage until he’s completely out of sight inside the dense woods, where he finally lets it take over his body in a full transformation. The anger envelopes him like a cloak, rending and reforming his flesh until he’s a complete monster, trudging through the snow aimlessly.

He spits in disgust. He should have never helped Heat. He should have never let himself become so close to him. In a sudden burst of anger, he flexes his claws and rakes them against a tree, shredding it like paper. The tree falls to the ground in pieces. He shakes the bark from between his fingers in irritation.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, letting himself become genuinely invested in him. In anybody. Fury burns inside him like poison in a gaping wound. He wants nothing more than to sink his claws into Heat’s body and tear him open. Snarling, he slashes through another tree in frustration. Something in the forest suddenly bolts, crashing through branches. Sheffield sees the blur from the corner of his eye. In a fit of irritation, he follows it, just wanting something to slash with his claws.

The animal crashing through the forest leads him to a clearing. Sheffield’s eyeless gaze scans the clearing. Pure untouched snow covers the clearing, and the pink-black sky is obscured through a heavy sheet of falling snow. Wind howls louder here with no trees to block it. In the very center of the clearing, the animal stands, gazing back at him with its head raised proudly high. One antler with multiple tines erupts from its skull.

“You,” Sheffield growls with his distorted voice. He doesn’t know if the animal can hear him, or even understand him. He doesn’t care. It’s something alive that he can kill, and that’s all that matters.

He lurches forward, extending his claws with a horrible roar, slashing forward at the deer’s throat. It springs nimbly up out of his range, landing on his claws for a split second before using them as a launching pad to launch away out of Sheffield’s assault. Spitting fury, Sheffield backhands the deer with a furious scythe. It narrowly avoids the blow and springs backwards. Sheffield snarls.

“Just let me kill you,” he spits. Saliva dripped from his jaws. He slashed at the animal again only to have his claws whistle through the air. He snarls.

The deer shuffles back, snorting. Sheffield stands hunched over, panting in frustration, his claws itching for blood. The deer raises the one mighty antler on its head as it stares back at him. Sheffield suddenly burns in anger for the single antler on the deer’s head. He reaches out with a huge fist to grab the base of the deer’s skull. It cries out, rearing up and battering him with its front hooves. Sheffield grins horribly. The antler cracks slightly under the force of his fist. The deer continues to struggle and beats him but its attacks do nothing to Sheffield’s powerful form. With a final wrenching crack, the antler breaks off from the base of the deer’s skull and the animal falls back gracelessly into the snow. Sheffield throws the crumbling antler aside with a snarl.

The deer gets shakily to its feet. Sheffield stares at it with his burning eyeless gaze. With a shake of its body, the animal gazes at him and Sheffield thinks the wet look in the animal’s black eyes seems sad. Almost pitying. It makes him burn with bloodlust and he lashes out at it again, catching the animal’s side. Chunks of fur and blood catch in his claws. The animal springs backwards, crying out, but eventually escapes relatively unscathed.

Sheffield doesn’t have the energy to chase after it. He watches it go, blindly running into the woods, as if the intelligence it displayed earlier vanished and it's a simple animal once again.

-

The house is completely dark except for the one lamp in the living room exuding soft orange light. Heat wraps the blanket tighter around his body. He changed out of his wet clothes and isn’t cold anymore but the horrible anxiety in his stomach chills him to the bone.

He holds out his hand, the one he used to pick up the bloody snow, and stares at it. The image of Sheffield standing over him with a dark expression on his face and his arm grotesquely transformed flashes across his mind and he recoils with a tiny grunt. His side aches from where Sheffield hit him, but the whole situation hurts more than the physical pain does. The betrayal and then the horrifying transformation is too much for him to handle. He holds his knees close to his chest.

What if he was wrong? What if Sheffield was telling the truth, and hadn’t been snooping around in his sister’s room? The blood in the snow, and the blackness in the hallway reminds him that Sheffield didn’t seem entirely free from suspicion, either. But he had promised to explain everything to Heat eventually. Maybe Heat was overreacting.

He rests his forehead against his knee. He knows he should never have said what he did to Sheffield, and every cell in his body regrets spewing those hateful words from his mouth.

Looking up to the window at the raging blizzard outside, he lets out a long sigh. He slumps off the couch, letting the blanket fall from his hand as he trudges into the main corridor, putting his boots and coat back on.

-

Above the roar of the wind and rage of the blizzard and the thick gray clouds, the moon and stars shine down on the frozen clearing.

Sheffield smells him coming before he sees him, trudging pathetically through the deep snow. He lurks in the shadows of the trees and doesn’t let Heat see him. It’s all he can do not to lunge and tear him limb from limb right now. A growl builds in the back of his throat but is lost to the howl of the wind.

“Serph?” Heat calls above the noise. He doesn’t have to raise his voice for Sheffield to hear him. In his state, all of his senses are heightened; he can see his body heat like infrared waves, and feel the rapid beats of his heart like pounding pulses in the air. The drained panting coming out as white puffs of air as he shuffles through the snow. The scent of his blood pumping in his veins. Sheffield licks his lips.

“Serph!” Heat yells again. He missteps, falling forward in the snow with a curse under his breath.

Sheffield raises a lip in disgust. Watching a grown man stumble around in the snow, desperately calling for him after he accused him and treated him like the same garbage everybody else in the world always had; it makes him sick. He wants to tear through Heat’s pathetic body like paper and leave him dying in the woods in a pool of his own blood. The fury burns.

“Serph, please!” Heat almost screams in frustration. A sob threatens to break the stability of his voice.

The lack of humility he’s displaying makes Sheffield want to spit. He decides he can’t take watching him flail around anymore and steps out into the clearing. His lips are curled into a snarl and his claws flex menacingly at his sides. Even in his fully transformed state, he knows Heat will recognize him. He waits for his horrified reaction, maybe a scream or full blown sobbing in panic.

The man stands there, knee deep in snow, dwarfed in Sheffield’s shadow. Tears sparkle in the corners of his eyes, but from the whipping of the cold wind or from emotion, Sheffield can’t tell. He stares down at Heat, awaiting any sort of reaction.

“Serph,” Heat murmurs.

Sheffield growls deep in his throat. Heat doesn’t flinch.

“Serph, I’m sorry,” Heat repeats. When Sheffield doesn’t respond, Heat asks in a quieter voice, “Is this what you were going to show me?”

“Yes,” Sheffield growls, his voice distorted.

“I’m sorry,” Heat says again under his breath. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you.”

“Why aren’t you running away like you did before?” Sheffield snarls suddenly, a horrible noise that sounds like the blades of a chainsaw.

“I… I don’t know,” Heat mutters. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Sheffield’s towering form. He is easily twice his height now, with muscly shoulders that ripple with power and claws that could kill him with one slash. Fear grips him, but something else does too. “You’re still Serph. No matter what you look like.”

“Heat O’Brien,” Sheffield growls, low and staticky, “I want to kill you.”

“This is the second time, isn’t it?” Heat murmurs. “The second time I’ve done something like this to you.”

Sheffield snarls in his face, spit and blackness like ink flying onto Heat’s face. He cringes away but doesn’t step back. When he doesn’t move, Sheffield flexes out his claws and leans over him.

“You can hit me again, if you want,” Heat mutters. “I probably deserve it for all the shit I’ve done to you.”

He does hit him. Sheffield rears his arm back, huge and dark, and slams into Heat’s side, sending him flying into a tree with a heavy thud. He falls down into the snow with his face curled into a pained grimace. Sheffield stomps over, mouth open and panting. Heat looks weakly up at him through his hair.

“Tell me what happened,” Heat says with a grunt, “With the blood and my sister’s locket.”

Sheffield is raising his clawed fist for another blow when Heat says it. He stops and lets his hand fall. With a terrible growl, he mutters, “If only you had asked before you betrayed me like everybody else does.”

He smashes inches above Heat’s head with his fist, breaking the tree. The top half falls, heavy with snow on its branches, to the ground with a crackling noise. Heat winces and opens his eyes.

“Serph! Please tell me!” Heat snaps.

“I could kill you with a single swipe,” Sheffield growls. “You are infuriating, O’Brien. I have never met another human like you before, and that is the only reason I have let you live for so long.”

The colour drains from Heat’s face. “What?”

“Frightened now?” He leers over him, dripping saliva from sharply fanged jaws. “For a long time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to eat you or not. I kept giving you one more chance to prove me wrong; to prove that you weren’t like the rest of the filthy humans on this fucked up planet. But you aren’t as different from them as I thought, are you?”

Heat’s eyes widen. “Serph, what – “

Sheffield opens his jaws wide and takes Heat’s head between his teeth. A noise of terror escapes from Heat’s lips. He can see right into Sheffield’s throat. Saliva drips into his hair. The stench of blood and flesh wafts out from his esophagus. For a moment fear grips his heart like a claw but with every passing second, it seems to fade. He resigns to his fate, of being eaten alive by this monster his friend has become –

“It’s you,” Heat suddenly says, voice quivering. “It’s you, in my nightmares,” Heat repeats, his voice getting louder but still trembling, “You’re the one who always eats me. That time we slept side by side, and I had that nightmare, it was you – “

Sheffield growls.

“Serph,” Heat murmurs. “If you’re going to kill me – if you’re going to eat me alive – let me just tell you something first.”

Sheffield says nothing. He looms over Heat’s bruised body lying against the shattered remains of the tree.

“I really…” Heat begins, speaking softly. He forces himself to look at Sheffield’s eyeless face. “I really did care about you. I still do. I don’t know what happened back there, because I was too quick to judge you. But I like you, Serph. I probably even love you. So if you’re going to kill me then go ahead. I just wish I had told you sooner.”

Sheffield looms over him, still unmoving. Heat waits for it to come – the inevitable pain he always feels in his dreams, the crunching of his bones and the spurting of blood. But it doesn’t come.

Sheffield turns away from him and steps into the clearing. In a bizarre haze of darkness his flesh changes right before Heat’s eyes. The monstrous flesh enveloping his own disappears, leaving him small and frail and human again.

“There was a thief in your home,” Sheffield mutters. “He tried to steal your sister’s locket.”

“What?” Heat breathes.

“When you didn’t lock the door, he was there. I sensed him when I hauled your body back home from the lake.”

“Then… the blood – “ Heat starts in horror.

“Yes, Heat,” Sheffield murmurs. “I couldn’t hold myself back, and in all honesty, I didn’t want to. I killed him.”

“But,” Heat says, his voice shaking, “there was no body left behind, just the blood in the snow – “

“I think you can figure out what happened to it yourself,” Sheffield mutters, turning his back to him once more. Heat feels sick.

“Serph,” Heat says, his voice wavering. “I don’t hate you for what you did.”

Sheffield turns slightly around to observe the expression on his face.

“Thank you, for looking out for me. For her,” Heat whispers.

“You don't care that I killed and ate someone? A human being?” Sheffield smirks. “That I was about two seconds away from eating _you_?”

A silence hangs in the air, punctuated by howls of the wind. “No,” Heat finally answers. One look into his fierce honey coloured eyes convinces Sheffield that he’s telling the truth. He narrows his eyes with a wry grin.

“You continue to surprise me, O’Brien,” Sheffield mutters. “Whenever I think I’m done with you, you manage to elude my final strand of patience somehow.”

Heat gazes up at him with a tired expression but with the warmth returned to his eyes. It is the one thing Sheffield has never been able to figure out with this man; the adoration, even in the face of danger; even when he was almost certain Heat knew he had been manipulating him. But then again, Sheffield was never quite sure where the manipulation began and the genuine fondness for the man ended.

“Fine. I will give you this last chance,” Sheffield murmurs, reaching a hand out to Heat. He hauls him back to his feet. In a gentler tone, he adds, gazing deeply into his eyes, “Perhaps you can show me exactly how much it is you love me.”


End file.
